Addiction
by NotebookNinja
Summary: When Becky Albright is kidnapped by the Penguin, it seems that only one person can save her...and it isn't Batman.
1. Kidnapped

The Penguin towered over me, staring down his long nose with an air of superiority. I knew this was only possible because I was forced into a sofa, whilst he had leapt up on to a designer coffee table.

I could smell the faint odour of an expensive cigar on his breath, and could see power twinkling in his small, dark eyes. Overall, his appearance was almost comical – a short, rotund man wearing a three piece suit, complete with top hat, coattails and overly polished shoes. But I knew this man was not to be trifled with. His bejewelled and fleshy fingers rested upon a dangerous umbrella, and in his other hand he held my cane.

It was the only weapon I had, if it could even be called that.

Fighting or running was out of the question. I wouldn't make it to the door. I just wasn't physically capable of escape. It seemed my only choice was to comply.

"In fact, Miss Albright, you're free to act like a guest here, just so long as you remember that you're _not_," the Penguin sneered. "You're a hostage."

I swallowed, even though my throat had gone completely dry. My heart drummed against my ribcage, as if each beat measured the time it took for me to reply. My head began to spin, the heat and the blood rushing upwards and clouding my vision. The ordeals of the night had proven too much for me, and I soon found myself slipping into unconsciousness.

Only when I awoke did I remember reliving the evening's events.

The graduation caps flew into the air like a flock of starlings. A great chorus of cheers ascended with them, and then died as they fell down once more. I couldn't help but smile as I caught mine with one hand.

As my fellow law graduates began to disperse, I found myself mingling amongst the crowds, something I was usually averse to. I hung on to the edge of small clusters, listening and laughing in conversations that I gave no input into. That was my version of socializing. Some say I was introverted or reserved, perhaps even stuck-up, but that wasn't the case. I was just what one might call socially awkward.

I could do speeches fine, I could speak out to defend a case with vehemence, but when it came to standard talking? No. A conversationalist I was not.

A prime example of this was when a guy from my class turned and tried to chat.

"What are you planning to do now…uh…" he trailed off as he realized he didn't know my name. He probably knew my work, my reputation and my GPA, but I would never have expected him to know my name.

"Becky," I told him.

"Right," he nodded awkwardly.

"I-I'm thinking about… an impromptu holiday," I said, wondering if he would judge me for not immediately finding work or something.

"You've got the money for that?" he laughed.

"I've…got some stuff, you know, saved up and stuff," I swallowed.

The weak excuse for a conversation fizzled out, and he turned back to the others, probably realizing I wasn't the most interesting person to talk to.

I disappeared after that, finding a place where I could change into more casual attire. I headed away from Gotham State University, catching the evening train to the apartment block where I had resided for the past few years. Whoever owned it thought that a splash of yellow paint on the concrete walls would cheer the place up.

It didn't.

Like on all of Gotham's street corners, suspicious characters lurked in the shadows. It was only natural for me to avoid such places, taking the brightly lit route to my apartment. I was extremely conscious of my cane tapping on the pavement, and my bag rustling against my brown overcoat.

A strong flapping of wings startled me.

I flinched, leaping away and thinking, inexplicably, that it could be a bat of some kind. It wasn't. It was a bird, big and black.

Just outside the tower block, there was a desolate little courtyard with a dying tree at its centre. The bird settled in the tree, watching me with its liquid gaze. I breathed out, slightly relieved, but I didn't take my eyes off the bird.

It was a crow.

My cane lashed out, striking the dying tree as I passed it. The crow squawked, ruffling up its dusky feathers. It refused to move.

I walked on, still watching it as it watched me.

The crow gave me a strange feeling. It reminded me of something that I didn't like to be reminded of. Something I had moved to this place to get away from.

Once I had shut myself inside the old-fashioned elevator, I felt slightly safer. The journey up to the fourth floor calmed me down. Stepping out on to the open-air walkway, I spotted another shady character hanging nearby. This one was a neighbour, however, and I had come to feel that if one stayed in this tower block for a certain amount of time, they became accepted. There was a strange and silent community spirit. I knew I would never be troubled here, not by the locals.

I couldn't help but peer over the balcony, to see if the bird was still in the tree. It was, until I locked eyes with it, and then it flew off into the air.

A strange feeling wormed its way into my stomach.

Pulling a brass key from my pocket, I unlocked my apartment door and shut it behind me. I didn't bother to draw the bolt across. I didn't bother to flick the light on either, but if I had, it would've illuminated a small but cosy little place with a shag pile carpet. There was plenty of stuff crammed into this apartment, but it was neatly arranged and organized. I guess that said a lot about me.

I discarded my bag and cane, before switching on the laptop that rested on my desk. It was probably the most expensive thing I owned.

Its bluish light filled half of the room, casting eerie shadows into the corners and off the walls. I wasn't scared of the dark, though. There was nothing in this place other than myself.

That was what I thought.

Tapping away, I wrote an e-mail to my mother announcing my graduation, not expecting a reply for the next five months. Anything sooner would've been unnatural.

I stared at my blank screen for a long time, a familiar idea gnawing at my inner resolve. What I did next, I probably shouldn't have done, but I couldn't resist. Who was I kidding? I _knew_ I couldn't resist. No one would find out, anyhow… My fingers danced over the keyboard, typing in a familiar link.

_Following the Masks._ It was a weblog, run by a small, anonymous group of people who tried to keep track of the activities of all of Gotham's most notorious criminals. I had started following it last year, joining the millions of Gotham citizens who were concerned for their welfare. It acted as a slightly amusing fan-site as well as an online newspaper. I had made my own contribution many months ago, posting a recount of the Greenvale Fear Epidemic…that was what people called it.

The memory of the bird outside flickered behind my eyes, and with it the masked face of a scarecrow. The Scarecrow.

My cursor hovered over the section of the website dedicated to him. I had been following his actions for just over a year. For personal safety, of course.

_No,_ I told myself, crossing off the page and immediately shutting down my laptop. The lid was slammed shut, casting my apartment into darkness. I sat there, staring at it, trying not to think until the whirring finally stopped.

That was when I heard it.

The breathing.

It wasn't my own.

Fear and adrenaline shot up my spine, bringing with them a familiar ache. My fingers reached for the cane propped up against my desk.

I felt my attacker move more than I heard him. I managed to ram the end of my cane into his shin before my head was slammed forward on to the tabletop.

My attack had little effect.

Great splinters of light shattered my vision, and when they had left my head was reeling and fizzing and unthinking. I didn't have time to recover before I was hauled from my chair and dragged towards the door. Physically, I was drained within moments of trying to defend myself. Any attempted to pull away and run would be utterly futile.

I hated being so powerless, but I had little choice other than to let myself be taken. I wouldn't have made it far without my cane, the cane which my attacker now held in his right hand.

He gripped me by my collar, as though he were carrying a mongrel pup from the scuff of the neck.

We left my apartment, the door closing behind us. I struggled feebly once more, even though I knew it was no use. Shouting for help was out of the question, too. No one would come to my aid, and I would just receive worse treatment from the man now towing me towards the old-fashioned elevator.

My head stopped spinning and I finally caught a decent glimpse of my assailant. He was a goon, there was no doubt about it. Thickset and vertically challenged, he walked with a swinging gait and held a look in his eye which made it clear he only had one intention – following an order.

Stepping into the elevator, I tried to pull myself up straight. Without my cane, however, I was sadly dependent on the goon.

"What do you want with me?" I braved a question.

"I don't want nothing from you," said the goon in a deep baritone. "It's what the boss wants from you."

"Who's your boss?"

"Well, you're just full of questions, ain't you?" smirked the man.

"I only asked two," I pointed out.

All of a sudden, my face was being rammed into the elevator's rigid metal grating. The cold edges sank painfully into my skin.

"I know you're smart," spat the man holding me, "but don't try to be sharp with me, bitch, or it won't end well for you. Take the hint and shut up."

My face was taken away from the metal grate, just as my capturer pulled it open once more. We had descended to the ground level.

I did take the hint and remained silent as we crossed the soulless courtyard to the street beyond. If anyone was observing from the shadows of the poorly lit tower block, they didn't react. The crow from earlier was long gone. Oddly, I would've felt more secure if I had had its liquid black gaze watching over me.

Parked illegally on the curb was a stereotypically black car, and I could just make out the silhouette of a driver at the wheel. The door to the backseat was opened and I was forced inside. Immediately, I slid across the beige leather and tried to get out the opposite door. My fingers fumbled with the handle, but it was to no avail. They had a locking system in the back.

I heard my capturer snigger as he climbed in after me. My cane was still in his possession.

"Don't think that'll work," he said. He tapped the headrest in front of him. "Drive."

The engine started up and with it came a rawer, more primal sense of fear. It pounded through my bloodstream, making my thoughts numb and indistinct. Outside, there had been options and space and time. Trapped in this car, I had none of those things. I tried to quell the waves of panic rising inside me.

Tapping my cane idly, the man beside me seemed oblivious to my inner fright, and the way my eyes flicked anxiously around me.

I tried to follow where we were going, but the driver took us on a weaving, roundabout route through the city that I didn't recognize. At one particular junction, my capturer leant over and forced my head between my knees, so all I could see was the shadows in the footwell. I lost all sense of direction.

"No peeking now, missy," said the man.

I couldn't have, even if it would've been of use. The man's hand was stronger than a vice over the base of my skull. The grimy orange streetlight stopped filtering into the car, and then my vision was filled with black. Eventually, I heard the tyres hit gravel as opposed to tarmac. I was allowed to raise my head once again, when we had finally arrived at our destination.

As I rubbed away the crook in my neck, my capturer stepped from the car and then went round to open the door on my side.

"Get out," he ordered. "And no funny business."

"I need my cane," I told him. I could stand and walk without it for a short amount of time, but he didn't know that. There was a pause as he thought.

He stuck out his empty hand, reluctant to give me any kind of weapon, and I had little choice but to grip his forearm.

The car drove away once my door was shut. I looked at my surroundings.

I was being taken towards a stately home, its grand architecture a classic example of Art Nouveau. The manor was illuminated by floodlights, each window glaring yellow beams back into the night. Above me, the sky was pitch black. I figured we were on the very edge of the city.

I had nowhere to run to, even if I could have run.

A small flight of broad stone steps disappeared underneath my feet, and then the grand double doors to the residence split open. I was swallowed by the great yellow light on the other side, emerging in an opulent foyer, high and wide, complete with a crystal chandelier and twin sweeping staircases.

I was led deeper into the manor house, passing more elegant furnishings and many henchmen that looked at me with a dark curiosity. My own wonderings were starting to get the better of me, and fear for the unknown summoned a million and one questions inside my head. I needed to know where we were going, why I was here, when I would be leaving.

I was taken into a single room, large and grandiose like the rest of the house. It was here that I was made to sit awkwardly into a cream, leather sofa. The man who held my cane pinned my shoulder down. It was enough to stop me from moving.

Moments later, the Penguin strutted into the room, looking maliciously smug and wielding a sophisticated umbrella. I knew who he was instantly. There was no mistaking him. He tipped his hat in my direction.

"Welcome to my _humble_ abode, Miss Albright," said the Penguin. The normally welcoming words came out nasty and sinister. "I've been planning to meet you for quite some time."

"What do you want with me?" I asked, folding my hands in my lap to steady their shaking. Like usual in these situations, the rational part of my brain was doing well to fight for supremacy. My question was coherent, even if my nerves twitched, needing only the slightest command to move my whole body.

"You're part of my little _plan_," explained the Penguin. He leapt on to the coffee table in front of me, twirling his umbrella merrily and clicking his shoes against the glass surface. He turned slightly to address the henchmen pinning my shoulder. "Say, my boy, what have you got there?"

"It's her cane, sir," the deep baritone voice had gone respectful in the presence of authority.

The Penguin gestured to it, and the henchmen passed it over my head. It was scrutinized against the light. Satisfied that it held no secret weaponry, the Penguin ordered the henchman to leave. He then returned his condescending glare to me.

Now the goon had left, I could finally sit up straight, stretching out the ache in my spine.

"You see, Miss Albright, here's the story," began the Penguin as the door shut. "Earlier this year, I hired the services of the Scarecrow, but he abandoned his work after making the _absurd_ accusation that another of my scientists, who he worked closely with, was trying to mutate his own DNA." The Penguin's mouth forced its way into a smile. I could tell this accusation he was referring to wasn't as absurd as he had said. I didn't have to have a degree in law to read his facial expression. "Any attempt to try and reconcile the deal since then has failed, so I have resorted to this. To _you,_ Miss Albright. You're my bargaining tool. When the Scarecrow knows I have you, he'll come running."

The idea seemed so ridiculous, I almost laughed in disbelief. But my body was exhausted and a faint pounding had begun in my head. It resonated from where the henchman had whacked my forehead into my desk earlier. My breathing became uneven.

"You're wrong," I managed to say. "I don't have any influence over…the Scarecrow." It felt strange to say his name out loud. It had been in my head for the past year, but I hadn't uttered it in a long time.

"You can't tell me otherwise," insisted the Penguin. "I had to do a fair amount of digging, but eventually I found something. Rumours about an obsession with a fearless young woman."

I wasn't fearless, not by a long shot. I was scared right now, sitting in this stranger's house with no way to escape or any chance of rescue. My mind reeled with possibilities, all leading to a dead end. My situation appeared hopeless, unless I could convince the Penguin of my uselessness.

"The last time we met, he tried to kill me," I told him. "This plan of yours won't work."

"It will!" the Penguin spat suddenly, anger rising in his face. "You can't tell me otherwise!"

His sudden change in temper was only half registered by my spinning thoughts. I was about to pass out and I knew it. Fainting wasn't an oddity to me.

"What do you expect from me?" I asked, breathless. The Penguin seemed completely unaware of my deteriorating condition.

"Just your co-operation," he said. "In fact, Miss Albright, you're free to act like a guest here, just so long as you remember that you're _not_." His sneer came back. "You're a hostage."

His voice only just made it past the loud, thumping beat of my heart.

Then the world faded away, and I heard nothing.


	2. Haunting Memories

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, or any of the characters mentioned other than the henchman, I suppose. But I don't really need them, because, well, I'm a ninja. ;)**

* * *

When I came back round again, I found myself lying in the same room on a luxurious double bed. My cane was lying next to me. It was morning.

After registering these simple facts, I looked around the room. The thing that hit me once again was its sheer _size_. The cream sofa lay several feet away from me, its cushions arranged perfectly. It was whilst I was staring at these perfect cushions that reality returned to me.

I was a prisoner here.

There was no one in the room, and that made me feel slightly safer. Logically, my life was safe anyway. If I was a hostage, to be used as leverage, then I wasn't easily disposable. My rational brain categorized that as important.

I slipped off the bed, realizing I was still in the same clothes as last night. Snatching up my cane, I made my way over to a nearby wardrobe, wondering if it would be of any help. It was. Everything in there looked roughly my size. By God, the Penguin really had planned this all out. His meticulous preparation skills were something I noted as significant.

Once I had changed, I dared to go over and open the door to the room. Two henchmen stood on the other side of it. Their gazes locked on me instantly when they heard the door click. Naturally, I shied away slightly before realizing that was a mistake. I couldn't act like that in this house, not with these people.

"Can a girl get breakfast round here?" I asked the two guards. The nonchalant tone was forced, but I managed it. The henchmen looked at each and nodded, coming to a silent agreement.

"Follow me," one said gruffly.

I was taken through the mazelike house until I reached a stainless steel kitchen, where I was told I could have anything so long as I made it myself.

As I was doing this, I noticed a great big knife block resting on a nearby counter. I looked from the protruding handles to the henchmen in the corner. He had a gun strapped to his thigh. I swallowed nervously and looked away. That wasn't an option. I wouldn't have been taken here if it was.

I had my back to the guard while I ate. It made me uneasy if people watched me eating. Just as I was about to leave, two other goons strolled in and when they saw me, massive smiles slithered across their faces.

"Well well," said one. "If it ain't the new little hostage we have here."

I said nothing.

"Hey!" called the man who had led me to the kitchen. "Don't screw around with her. You know what the boss said. No one touches her." He moved a little closer, fingers twitching over the gun at his leg.

"What the boss don't know won't hurt him," grinned the other man, and all of a sudden I started to feel anxious. I knew these people wouldn't necessarily be loyal to their boss' orders, and the look in all three of the men's eyes hinted that they were actually going to go through with this. I turned and began making my way to the door.

A heavy hand fell on my shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going, sugar?" leered the second henchman who had come into the room. He was taller than the first, but both were equally as menacing.

I began to feel the slow dread of a trapped prey. The henchman with the gun stared straight ahead, as though oblivious to the other two.

My first reaction was to reach for the knife block, but the tall man's hand slammed mine into the kitchen counter, crushing it. I bit my lip, fighting the whimper that crawled up my throat. The shorter man grasped a knife handle, pulling the biggest blade from the wood. It made a hollow rasping noise, almost like a sword being drawn.

I fought against the grip on my hand, panicking, struggling, but it was no use. A sharp steel blade was wafted in front of my face.

"Say, sweetie, how do you think Scarecrow will feel if he sees you all carved up?" grinned the shorter man.

He wouldn't care, I thought to myself. No one would care if I died here. For some reason, that made me struggle harder. It still wasn't enough.

I heard a sour laugh and then the hand that was pinning down my own disappeared. My struggling caused me to stumble backwards and I fell into a nearby kitchen counter, sending my cane tumbling to the floor.

I followed it shortly afterwards, as the taller man's heavy hand sent a blow to my head. My arms didn't move fast enough to block and I ended up sprawled on the cold, hard tiles. A sea of red hair covered my vision.

The laughing became worse, making me realize how pathetic I looked whilst lying on the floor. Fighting the tears in my eyes, I reached for the cane beside me and pulled myself upright.

They let me.

But then the shorter man came forward with the kitchen knife, ready to start the taunting all over again.

I gasped as the metal blade passed a little too close to my face. It was so sharp, I couldn't have been sure if it had drawn blood or not.

The sound of footsteps resonated from the other side of the kitchen door, and it was only then that the man who had originally led me down here reacted to the others' antics.

"Alright, that's enough," he growled, reaching for the kitchen knife and shoving it back into the block. The other two men complied. The door swung open, two more goons stepping in. They eyed me curiously, suspiciously, but I did my best to not break their eye contact.

Inwardly, I sent thanks to the man upstairs for sending them as an interruption.

Grabbing my shoulder, the henchman with the gun led me back to the room where I was held captive. My heart was still racing from the struggle in the kitchen.

"You took you're time," commented the other guard on the door.

"She's a slow eater," said the first one.

I tried to scoff at that, before disappearing promptly inside the room. Alone once again, I felt far more secure. I checked my face in a mirror, discovering that the knife _had_ actually cut my skin. There was the faintest red line on my jaw. Going into the bathroom, I splashed water on my face and then pressed a wad of tissues against it.

It wasn't even deep enough to justify a plaster, really.

Returning to the main room, I wandered over to the bookshelf in one corner. There was nothing I could _do_ in this house, and the boredom seemed to get to me as much as the violent henchmen and lack of freedom did. I plucked _The Moonstone_ from the shelf and flipped to the first page.

I settled down into a chair, preparing to distract my mind with the book, but instead my thoughts wandered. My gaze drifted to the large window behind the leather sofa. There was no latch to it. I doubted that I could break it with my strength, but even then I'd have nowhere to go. Hopelessness descended on me like a heavy raincloud, grey and bleak and cold. My chances of escape were nil. No one even knew I was here, and any friends and family I had were distant, they wouldn't notice me missing. Earlier in the year, the Batman had kept his eye on me, but I had never expected him to be there all of the time. Seeing as I hadn't been in trouble for so long, I doubted he still took to being my guardian.

It really did appear that my only chance of getting out lay with the Scarecrow.

He wouldn't come, I was sure about that.

An idle mind was like a curse to me, and without anything to do in the Penguin's manor, old memories started to return. They were memories I preferred to keep repressed.

A year ago, back when I lived in the small suburb of Greenvale, the Scarecrow had, effectively, played an experimental game with the entire neighbourhood. I remembered the fear gas, odourless, tasteless, a chemical green mist that hung ghoulishly in the air. I remembered the screams, the guttural cries and pleas for help. The murderous rages. Frightened people did frightening things.

After watching most of the suburb succumb to the mind-numbing fear, I did too. I remembered the completely _logical_ notion to kill the neighbour's dog, because it had glowing red eyes and funnel-web spiders scuttling from its mouth. That deep, primeval sense of fear had left some kind of irreparable scar inside me. I remembered it in my dreams. Compared to it, no other situation had ever made me come close to that feeling.

Madness had reigned for weeks, and it was only then that the Batman arrived. Afterwards, I was one of the few who saw the Scarecrow being arrested, being unmasked. So many had feared him then, even without the costume. But he was just a man. That was all he was. I remembered the mask coming off, revealing a face, a human face that was young and slightly gaunt and holding a deranged look within its startlingly blue eyes.

I was the one who had testified against the Scarecrow.

He had been sentenced to Arkham Asylum and that was when I had written my recount for _Following the Masks_. It was on that website that I heard of the Scarecrow's escape, and when I did, I knew he was coming for me. I endured two weeks of being stalked, of being followed, but whenever I thought I had seen something, it disappeared. The Batman had told me he would watch out for my safety, but Gotham was a huge city with far more pressing matters than just me. I hadn't expected him to be there, not really.

The Scarecrow timed his revenge carefully.

When I had boarded the underground one evening, he had attacked the train I was on. I had been sitting in an empty carriage, away from people like I was used to. As soon as that toxic green gas filtered into the train, I recognized it immediately. I bolted for the doors, only to find _him_ waiting with his twisted, sewn-up smile leering down at me.

I had no way to defend myself. My cane was useless. I struggled against him before he injected me with a serum, a dose of pure toxin that wormed its way into my system, unravelling my deepest fears.

I feared being judged. I feared others' assumptions about me, based on my appearance and the way I acted. I hated it. That strange, unwanted invasion into my true emotions had left me feeling so open and violated at first, but then the oddest of scenarios had happened.

The Scarecrow _understood._

I distinctly remembered him launching into a long soliloquy, one that told the tale of a pitiful childhood. It was in that moment that my rational, dependable side had emerged through the drugged state of fear and used the chance to escape. I had managed to run, without the help of my cane, and just to my luck I found the Batman, who had heard about the attack on the underground.

I didn't see the Scarecrow again for a while, but by then my curiosity had arisen. I had to admit that there was some connection between me and the man who knew the deepest of my previously unspoken fears, as much as the idea seemed so vile.

Several months ago, whilst studying at the Gotham State University, I once more heard that the Scarecrow was back to roaming the streets. Only this time, I hadn't anticipated his arrival. I had been on the library's terrace, outside after dark, and he had appeared from the shadows, mask in place, wearing his tatty costume and wielding a wicked scythe.

To my surprise, he didn't attack me.

He had wanted me to join him, to become his 'Mistress of Fear', as he put it. His hand had been held out, tempting, wanting me to strike back at the world that had ridiculed and shunned me.

Stunned, I had declined.

I remembered the look in his eyes, I could see through the holes in his mask and into those twisted blue depths. I could still see the rejection, so real and human that I almost felt sorry for him. It was as if my declining had actually hurt the Scarecrow in some way. I almost didn't blame him when he raised the scythe up high and swung it in my direction. I realized how stupid that would seem later.

The scythe never did reach me. From above, the Batman descended on the Scarecrow, disarming him before the blade hit home. A fight had ensued.

I remembered the hunched, sorrowful figure of the Scarecrow as he was apprehended once again.

He was the self-proclaimed Master of Fear, but it wasn't fear I felt in his presence. It was sympathy.

I hadn't seen him since then, but I had heard news of him. He was out there, somewhere, lurking in the shadows of Gotham. Right now, he was my only hope of escape. If he didn't come…that was what scared me the most. That was what stirred the deep, primal fear of death. I wondered, morbidly, how the Penguin would dispatch me when he found out how useless I was to his cause.

I stared down at _The Moonstone_, still resting, opened and forgotten in my hands. I hadn't read the first page, let alone turned it.

Sighing in despair, I tried to bury my mind in the book. I succeeded until late in the evening, not even getting up to eat. There was a mini refrigerator beside the sofa, which supplied me with bottled water. It was all I needed. I smirked as I thought about the idle luxuries surrounding me. Yes, it was easy to fool myself that I was a guest here, not a hostage.

I remembered the brief struggle in the kitchen and that brought me back to the reality of my situation.

When night descended, I wedged the finished book back into the shelf and headed for the door. I wasn't tired. In fact, my mind was too alert, too aware that there was nothing to do.

Things continued that way for almost a week. The Penguin never returned to check up on his prize hostage, and for that I was glad. I barely ate, instead dedicating my time to sleeping and thinking, pacing and reading. Sometimes I would take long walks through the parts of the house where I was allowed, which caused the henchmen to become highly suspicious. Maybe their usually idle brains didn't appreciate the maddening boredom I was undergoing. Their constant presence irritated me.

By the end of the week, I had had enough. I opened the door to my room late one evening.

"Where can I go without a guard?" I asked the two henchmen. They were the same ones from before.

"Nowhere," laughed the one who had taken me to the kitchen on my first day. "You're to be kept under surveillance at all times, little lady, with the exception of this room here."

"Nowhere, really? I'm going to lynch myself if I stay in this room any longer," I said.

The man raised an eyebrow, wondering for a moment whether I was serious or not.

"Well, there's the gallery, I suppose," suggested the second man. He was black and had an obscure tattoo inked on his neck.

"Get real, Dixon," smirked the first guard. "No way is the boss going to let her in there on her own."

"There's, like, a billion and one cameras in there," objected Dixon. "Honestly, Roy, if there was anywhere in this place she could go unassisted, it would be the gallery."

"Whatever," Roy rolled his eyes.

"Fine, I'll go there," I told them.

I let Dixon lead me through the twisting corridors, in a different direction to where I had been before. Ideally, I would've kept a mental map of the house, but all the corridors were so irksomely similar, it just wasn't possible.

The gallery was on the second floor to the manor, occupying the western wing. Clashing with the grandiose Art Nouveau design, a massive steel door had been fitted over the gallery's entrance. Dixon punched a code into an adjacent panel.

"I thought the Penguin would have had better security than _that_," I muttered, thinking aloud.

Dixon smirked.

"There's a reason for…no, I shouldn't say anything." There was an amused smile on his face, and I knew it wouldn't take much prodding to find out what he was hiding. I wouldn't be dependent on my skills as a lawyer to get the truth from him.

"I haven't got anyone to tell," I scoffed.

"True," mused Dixon. "Besides, the boss changes his tactics every so often _anyway _so…"

"No harm done then." One corner of my mouth lifted into a reassuring smile.

"These aren't the boss' real possessions," Dixon said, causing me to raise an eyebrow. "He spends a fortune on 'em, and then spends half the same again to get expert copies. Just to put in here. The real stuff's downstairs in a great big vault."

"Interesting," I murmured as the steel door buzzed open. Dixon made a gesture, indicating that I now had free reign. It wasn't a surprise. As soon as I passed over the threshold, I saw two security cameras trained on me. I thought they would trace my steps as I walked, but to my surprise, they remained still.

The room was filled with more than just paintings. There were sculptures and models and what looked like the latest ventures into technology, all housed securely behind panels of glass. I strolled down the corridor, looking at the strange, priceless and _fake_ artefacts that the Penguin kept in here. There were security cameras almost every few feet, watching each of my movements, it seemed, with their frozen gaze.

Halfway down the passage, another corridor crossed through it, so I hung a left and wandered down a new section of the gallery. Portraits of rich and condescending people stared down their noses at me. It didn't take much to figure out that these were the Penguin's relatives.

In between these portraits stood other paintings, all mounted in gilt frames and displayed proudly in glass boxes. Down this section of corridor there were little inlets, and these too were lined with famous and expensive canvases. At the end of each inlet, there was a window. I studied these closely, before deciding they were set too high up in the wall for me to climb. Besides, three storeys up and I wouldn't have made it to the ground alive.

Gritting my teeth, I continued further down the corridor.

Just as I reached the end, I felt a cool draft swirling around my ankles. I looked right, in the direction of the draft, and to my surprise, I discovered that the far window was wide open. Almost instinctively, my head swung to the left.

A dark figure was crouching not ten feet away from me. A figure wearing a black suit and odd, translucent red goggles.

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**A/N: I would like to say a big thank you to all of my readers, followers and reviewers! Please, tell me what you thought of this chapter. And thanks again. :') **


	3. The Scream

**Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. :'( **

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Catwoman hissed at me, perfect, pearly white teeth forming a feral snarl. She leapt forward, black claws swiping for my face. I ducked the blow, bringing my cane up to her ribcage. I was surprised it hit, and she hissed once more, but this time in pain.

"Wait," I told her, but she struck out again with predatory reflexes. I didn't manage a full dodge and metal scraped at my cheek. I cried out, clutching my bloodied face with my one free hand. The scar from the kitchen knife had only just healed, and now I had a deeper set. "I'm a hostage here," I said.

This seemed to spark curiosity in her, but also suspicion. I saw her feline eyes flash behind her translucent goggles as she took to circling me. Her claws were held at the ready and I didn't miss the whip swinging from her hips.

"You don't seem to be a hostage," her demure voice was filled with interest.

"If I was working for the Penguin, I would have called the guards by now," I replied, watching her movements constantly.

"You wouldn't be calling him the Penguin, either," Catwoman narrowed her eyes. "He would have had you beaten senseless for saying that name."

"I guess you'll have to trust my word then," I said. "Because I need your help….in fact, I think I might be useful to you too."

"How so?" inquired Catwoman. She ceased her pacing, laying a delicate claw on her chin.

"All of these artefacts, they're replicas. I know where the Penguin keeps the real ones."

Turning her back on me, Catwoman strolled over to a nearby painting. She didn't touch it, merely stared up at it longingly. I followed her line of sight. She was admiring the Penguin's fake copy of _The Scream_ by Edvard Munch.

"Are you telling me that this preciouspainting is forged?" she purred.

"Yeah," I stepped up beside her. I saw her as my one realistic chance to escape this manor house. I was sick of being a prisoner. "But if you want to know where the real copy is, I'll need a favour from you in return."

"What do you want?" Catwoman's attention snapped back to me. She raised a beautifully arched eyebrow.

"Like I said, I'm a hostage here," I explained. My eyes flickered upwards briefly to a still security camera. I frowned, before realizing why it didn't move. Why none of them had. Catwoman had messed with the Penguin's security system.

"Go on," prompted the cat burglar.

"I want you to help me escape."

The thief chewed this over in her head, looking slightly apprehensive. I thought she was on the brink of declining, but then her longing gaze turned back to the expensive painting on the wall. I thought I heard an actual purring noise inside her throat.

"Deal," said Catwoman, causing me to blink in surprise. "But only if you tell me where the painting is first."

"How can I trust you?" I was the one narrowing my eyes this time.

"Because I _hate _the Penguin," snarled the thief convincingly. "Did you know he put a bounty on my head once? It's part of the reason why I'm stealing _his _copy of _The Scream_."

"I only have your word for that," I said.

"And I only have yours that you're a hostage."

There was an uneasy silence between us as we decided whether or not to trust the other. I didn't have much choice, really. It wasn't like I had anything to lose.

"I overheard a henchman saying that the real paintings are in a vault downstairs. I guess he meant the basement. There's bound to be a basement to this place, right?" I said.

"Right," Catwoman nodded. "Where are you being held…hostage?"

"It's a room on the first floor, at the back of the house." Beyond that, I had no idea. "I'll…I'll stand next to the window. There's only one."

"OK…" said Catwoman sceptically. "Wait there, I should be outside in under an hour. You better not be leading me into a trap here, kid, or you'll regret it."

"My name's Becky, n-not kid," I said. Now that I had obtained what I wanted, I could feel my confidence slipping. The stutters and pauses started to rise back into my mouth. "And y-you'll see I'm not lying. Good luck…getting down there."

"I don't need luck," spat the thief. She retrieved a black bag that had previously been nestled on the floor and swung it over her shoulder. "I have skill." After rummaging in her bag for a second, she drew out a dark piece of cloth and handed it to me. "Cover the scratches on your face," she said.

I took the piece of material, pressing it into my cheek. I watched as Catwoman sauntered past me and leapt nimbly up to the ledge of the open window. It was a leap I could never have dreamed of doing. She turned back once to close the glass, and then gave me a mock salute as she unravelled her whip and swung away into the night.

Licking the cloth and dabbing it against my face, I squinted at my reflection in the brightly lit glass, until I thought most of the blood had gone. I stuffed the cloth in my pocket as I headed back towards the steel door, hiding my injured cheek behind a curtain of auburn hair.

When I met Dixon, I made sure to walk on the side of him that wouldn't reveal my scratches. As we went in silence back to my room, my eyes caught hold of the occasional security cameras in the corridors. None of them moved, but seeing as an alarm hadn't been raised, I figured that Catwoman may have put them on a loop.

"I heard the Penguin was planning to stop by tonight," said Dixon, just before we reached my door.

"Oh really?" I asked, holding a neutral tone.

"Yeah, said something about keeping an eye on his hostage."

I had to fight a smile as I thought about it. If Catwoman intended to keep her word, I was _this_ close to escaping the Penguin's custody. I imagined him walking into that empty room.

Once I returned to the room where I had resided for the past week, time seemed to crawl by ever so slowly. With each minute that ticked past, I fretted more and more about Catwoman keeping up her side of the deal. For the best part of an hour, I sat next to the large window, with the lights on bright whilst I stared out into the darkness.

I picked up the book I had been reading. On the cover were the words _The __Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. _I skimmed through to the page I was on and started to read. Subconsciously, however, my mind remained focussed on the time. It felt as though it was slipping through my fingers, like sand from a beach. Where was Catwoman? When did the Penguin plan on making his pointless little visit?

Just when I felt I had been betrayed, there was a sharp tap on the glass next to me. I jumped from my seat, panic written across my face. Catwoman wore an amused smile from the other side of the window. I just about made out the wink she gave me, before she reached into the black bag perched next to her on the ledge. Unzipping it, her clawed hand disappeared for a moment before bringing out a large glass cutter.

I licked my lips in anticipation. I was getting out of here.

In the same instant that the tool touched the window, the worst possible thing happened.

The door behind me opened.

Catwoman's eyes widened in surprise. She instantly stashed the glass cutter back into the bag.

"Guards!" squawked a familiar voice. "_Guards_!"

Dixon and Roy rushed into the room, Roy drawing his gun from its holster. By the time they had entered, Catwoman had leapt from the outer window ledge, swallowed by the dark night. My fist hit the window, infuriated. I had been _this _close.

"What is it, sir?" asked Dixon, scanning the room with dark eyes.

"Catwoman!" hissed the Penguin. "She was outside!"

"She's gone," said Roy.

"I can _see_ that, you imbecile. I want her found, now! I want to know what that bitch was here for, you understand that, moron?" snapped his boss.

"Yes sir," said Dixon sharply. The two henchmen left the room.

The Penguin stalked towards me, small, shrewd eyes narrowed and venomous. His pudgy, bejewelled fingers grabbed hold of my chin roughly as he examined the scars on my face.

"You've met with that thief before," he snarled. "What did she want?"

"No idea," I lied inefficiently.

A hard slap landed on my cuts and I felt wings of colour spread across my face. I hated being slapped. It was so degrading.

"Tell me! Why was she after _you_?" demanded the Penguin. I could smell the faint scent of cigar smoke around him, and see the sweat shining on his wide forehead.

"She was after your copy of _The Scream_," I corrected him. "Best of luck getting it back."

Another slap reddened my cheek. I swallowed down anger.

"I bet you helped her, didn't you?" he spat, turning away from me and moving quickly back to the door. "Bloody women. Can't trust a single one of them!" He called for more guards, and three armed men entered the room. "I want this hostage secure, you hear me?" The Penguin swept away, umbrella tapping on the floor.

I leant heavily on my cane, glad to be left with just three simple-minded henchmen. Even if they were armed, they wouldn't risk shooting me.

Their eyes followed me as I headed for the bathroom door.

"I'm just cleaning these scratches up," I told them quietly. I did just that. But when I had locked the door, I let a few hot, frustrated tears fall from my eyes. I had wanted to get out of here so badly. I hadn't realized just how much until there had been the hope of Catwoman freeing me. Now I wanted my freedom even more desperately.

Catwoman wasn't found that night. I heard the news through Roy and another henchman, who both returned to my door that evening with machine guns. The cat burglar had successfully managed to steal _The Scream_ painting from the underground vault.

That woman _owed _me, I thought spitefully.

Early the following morning, the Penguin had sensors installed outside my window, to sound an alarm if they detected any movement. I smirked as I watched the men on ladders, fiddling with wiring and what not.

Deep down, though, I was livid. I was back to square one all over again.

It was safe to say that I wasn't allowed back to the gallery, even if all the displays were completely fake. Dixon was dealt with harshly for letting me step foot in there. It was never revealed that he had told me about the Penguin's vault, so the last I heard, he was still alive. I had to admit I felt bad for getting him into such a mess, even though most of my emotions were spent on stress and frustration, not guilt.

No amount of escapism through books or endless pacing cured my insatiable want for freedom. I found myself checking the window multiple times a day, just to see if a way out had appeared. I even tried to prize the grate off of the air conditioning shaft. It was no use. I was still trapped here.

On the bright side, because my brain always had an irritating habit of trying to find one, I hadn't been attacked by the henchmen again, like I had in the kitchens on my first day. Whenever they saw me, they would always look at the scars smarting on my face, and decide that it wasn't worth the risk to create any more damage. I guess I had Catwoman to thank for that.

I lay awake one night, staring at the darkness of my ceiling. I thought about being trapped here forever, but then realized that wasn't realistic. They would kill me eventually. I might only have a week left to live, or a month if I was lucky.

The solitude in this room I could deal with. The lack of human contact I could handle. But the never-ending feeling that I was a prisoner? Not so much.

I wondered if the Scarecrow knew I was here.

I blinked tiredly, yawning up to my ceiling. When I tried to focus on it again, my vision kept slipping. Was I really that drowsy? It felt like my head was tilting sideways, even though I was sure I was still. I turned on to my side and suddenly the whole room started spinning, to the point where I was nearly sick. What was wrong with me?

Fumbling for the lamp beside the bed, my fingers flicked its switch. It burned me. I snatched my hand back as brilliant white light bathed half the room in a surreal glow. My sight was fuzzy.

From the corner of my eye, I saw things moving in the shadows. A slow, icy fear started to crawl through my bloodstream, and I broke into a cold sweat.

That was when I noticed it. Through my warped and frightened gaze, I made out the odourless, chemical green gas seeping in from behind the ventilation grate.

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**A/N: Another big THANK YOU to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favourited this story! Your support really makes a difference to me. Reviews for this chapter will be very much appreciated! :)**

**I'd also like to offer an apology, because I'll be going on holiday tomorrow and the next guaranteed update will be Wednesday evening. I'll do as much as I can beforehand, but I'm still sorry because I know long waits for updates suck! **


	4. Research

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from the Batman comics. Unfortunately. **

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The ghoulish mist filtered slowly into the room, finger-like tendrils coiling around the furniture.

Through my dazed and timid state, I heard the sounds of a violent commotion outside my room. Was this happening all over the manor? As the forms of rational objects became warped, the echoes of gunfire reached my ears.

Then the screams stopped. The gunfire stopped. All I could think about was the way my muscles shook and how there were cockroaches scuttling out from the floor. I shuffled away from them, the white bed sheets crumpling underneath me.

Twisted, shadowy bats broke through the melting window and circled me once before dissipating into the night sky above.

The door burst open.

In stepped a tall, lanky figure, wearing a stitched up costume and a deformed, hessian mask. There was a bloodied scythe in his hand and that horrific, sewn-up smile stretched as he tilted his head in my direction. Those messy stitches grinned at me like crooked teeth.

"Get up, Rebecca." His voice doubled and redoubled, becoming something deep and muddled and frightening.

Screams erupted from inside me. I started to thrash, clawing at the fear that shrouded my mind. I heard my name being called again as strong, sinewy arms yanked me upright. My legs were so weak that they nearly gave out. My unfeeling fingers grasped at my cane as the door moved towards me. The corridor beyond swayed dangerously. My feet felt as though they weren't touching the floor, causing me to trip over Roy's prone body.

He had come. The true revelation of this was numbed by the fear drug.

Ghosts screamed at me as I stumbled down the corridor. The wallpaper became a dark forest, alive with vile creatures with glowing eyes. I remembered the time back in Greenvale. The neighbour's dog bounded around the corner and flew straight through me. I gasped, crying out in the anticipation of pain. All of a sudden, I looked down at my hands and discovered they were wet with red blood.

"Keep moving," a rasping voice snapped in my ear. It sounded as if it resonated from the bottom of a deep crevasse. My hearing was filled with the Scarecrow's rough breathing.

We kept on going through the distorted, nightmarish mansion, passing guards who flailed and screamed and begged for their mothers. A manic, echoing laugh suddenly shook the entire house, causing my mind to spin even further into madness.

At some point, I must have passed down some stairs, because the Scarecrow and I emerged into the foyer through the main doors on the ground level. What appeared to be left of them, anyway. The grand entrance was laid out before us, wreathed in that surreal green mist and burning slowly, even though there was no fire.

The Scarecrow moved carefully into the centre of the room, walking in that strange, animalistic crouch that he did when he was on the prowl. I followed, my cane straining heavily as I dragged myself forward.

Seconds before we reached the double doors, we became surrounded by henchmen. Their eyes glowed a fiery gold and the red scopes of their weapons pierced the fear gas.

They wore gas masks.

Two dozen of them had emerged from behind the railings on the staircases, from around the tall, opulent pillars that ascended into the night sky.

The Scarecrow froze in his tracks, hissing in anger.

"Take off the masks, kids," he taunted the goons. "Face the _fear_ like real men."

"I don't think so, Crane," sniggered the Penguin. He sauntered down from the top of one of the staircases, hat still in place over his gas mask. "Hand the girl back to me and we can arrange a deal."

My world spun sickeningly, my vision blacking out for one terrible moment. A bony grip caught my shoulder, stopping me from hitting the floor. The Scarecrow's gaze remained fixed on the Penguin, however.

"What are you most afraid of right now, Penguin?" the Scarecrow sneered. "Losing me, or losing your dignity when your plan fails miserably?"

The Penguin gave no answer to the question, merely strolled up to the Scarecrow and aimed the tip of his umbrella at the other man's chest. The Scarecrow raised his wicked scythe, but in the same moment, two dozen safeties were clicked off.

"You're outnumbered and outgunned," announced the Penguin, as if this hadn't been known previously. "Give in now, and I may still be generous with the little deal I have planned for you."

"I have no interest in working for _you_," snarled the Scarecrow.

"Oh really? What happens if I do this?" The Penguin switched his umbrella's aim to me. A strangled cry escaped from my lips, my fear heightened by the airborne toxin. I heard the Scarecrow's breath hiss as he lowered his scythe. He removed the grasp he held on my shoulder. The grip of a ghost hand remained where his real one had once been. "I bet you're real interested now, aren't you?" smirked the Penguin.

I was transferred between the two of them, my crushing defeat softened by my dysfunctional mind. Things were reforming now. The front doors were the same as they had always been and people's eyes ceased to glow.

"This way, Crane," said the Penguin smugly. He pushed me in front of him, umbrella tip resting on the small of my back. It ached slightly. The henchmen gathered around the three of us, guns aiming inwards. One brave, or rather, one stupid person attempted to retrieve the Scarecrow's scythe. They were backhanded across the face and knocked to the floor.

Fingers twitched over trigger guards, but no one fired a shot without the Penguin's order.

I was directed towards a study, its style in keeping with the rest of the manor. Only, I noticed how this area was decidedly clear of fear gas. Around me, I could hear the faint whir of extractor fans sucking it back into the ventilation shafts.

Leaning on my cane, I was made to stand behind a thick, mahogany desk whilst the Penguin nestled in a high-backed chair.

The Scarecrow stood.

The guards piled in after him.

"Take a seat," the Penguin offered, removing his hat and then his mask. "Or you can kneel, I'm really quite lenient."

"I would prefer to stand," said the Scarecrow. His voice was still distorted by the hessian mask he wore.

"Suit yourself."

"What is this _deal _you have referred to?"

"It's quite simple, really, and I plan to honour it to the full… Just so long as you co-operate, like this little lady here has been doing."

The Scarecrow's gaze still didn't meet mine, it held steady on the Penguin.

"Would you care to go into specifics?" he asked, seemingly bored.

"I assume you remember the research you were working on the last time you were here? I want you to continue said research, just like before. Only when I have the end result will I return Miss Albright's freedom," said the Penguin.

There was a cold silence lingering in the air for a moment.

"Is Dr. Friitawa still under your employment?" inquired the Scarecrow.

"She is."

"I refuse-"

"You're not in a position to refuse anything."

"-to have my DNA experimented on again."

There was another silence.

"We both know that never happened," said the Penguin, resting a finger against his lips.

"I will take that as an acceptance to my request."

"You may begin whenever you feel like, but don't expect to be leaving this place until you've finished." The seated man narrowed his already puny eyes.

I watched the Scarecrow's fists clench and unclench in frustration, the beginnings of a threat on his tongue. He was used to getting what he wanted through fear and intimidation, not by complying with someone else's conditions. It was hard to threaten someone, though, when they had two dozen guns pointed directly at you.

Turning, the Scarecrow left with his head held high. The Penguin called for one of the guards to escort me back to my room. Outside of the study, the fear gas had been extracted so that not even the faintest trace of green lingered in the air. The guards who had been exposed were only just starting to recover. Some were quaking heaps, huddled against the walls. Others muttered to themselves frightfully.

I could feel a headache coming on and shortly after I had returned to my room, I passed out on top of the bed. I remembered dreaming about horrific nightmares, crying though no tears fell, and feeling adrenaline sing in my veins. When I woke up, however, all those things faded until they were a mere ghost in the corner of my mind.

Showering away the last few fragments of nightmare, I changed clothes and ventured down to the kitchens with a henchman at my shoulder. He held a machine gun and kept his expression carefully blank. I guessed he was going to have a permanent placement outside my door, after Roy's departure.

I was curious as to what the men's reactions would be. Wandering through the corridors, I heard the timid whispers and bitter confessions as they relived the hallucinations they had been through last night. One thing was certain, they were all scared of the Scarecrow. More so, it seemed, than their own boss. I couldn't help but smirk at this revelation, the action feeling ugly on my lips. I had heard such whispers before, back in Greenvale, when everyone there had feared the same man.

It was a fear I had yet to discover.

Having to remain in my room seemed more torturous now than it had before, especially knowing that the solution to my predicament was somewhere in this house. My mind drifted back to the last time I had seen him, back at Gotham State University.

I remembered the gleam of the wicked scythe blade, raised high with murderous intent. Would I have moved, if the weapon hadn't been knocked from his hands? Would he really have swung? My thoughts said yes to both, but now I could never really be sure.

That was last year.

Right now, the man with the scythe was attempting to restore my freedom. He had come, as opposed to my previous saviour.

No matter what had happened that night, I still felt that familiar sense of debt. I owed him. I didn't like owing people, but it was a standard I had set myself and now I had to stick with it. It was the way I was.

I opened the door to my luxurious room late that evening. Over the weeks, it had become rather small.

"Where's the Scarecrow working?" I asked the guards outside.

There was a pause.

"In the labs. Where else?" one man rolled his eyes.

I hadn't known the manor had labs.

"Take me there," I said. I considered framing it as a question, but decided to make it a demand. It came out surprisingly strong.

"No way in hell, girlie," laughed the other guard. "Not after what Dixon got for helping you out. You know he's missing an eye, right?"

There was a faint twang of guilt inside me, but I couldn't let it get to me. After all, what the man had just said could've been a mere rumour.

"The Scarecrow wants to meet," I announced.

"What? Since when?" smirked the first man.

"He told me before he was 'captured'," I framed the last word in quote marks with my fingers. "Getting captured was all part of his plan, you see, and afterwards he said to meet."

"Why, that part of his plan too? Why would we help _him_ get what he wants?"

"Because if you stand in his way, you irritate him. I don't think I have to explain to you what happens to people who do that. Just use your imagination. Who would you rather provoke? Your boss, or the Master of Fear?" I held down a triumphant smile as I saw the resolve disappear from the men's eyes.

"I don't know," said one guard stiffly.

"No way, man, think about Dixon-" began the other.

"Dixon could fight back. You can't fight your own head, man, it's not possible. Once you're under, you're screwed."

"What's worse? Pain, or fear?"

"I don't know, not when it's that kind of fear. Oh God, what if he can do worse than last night? I heard he's got pure toxin. Injects it right into you, he does, and it's way stronger than the gas."

I remembered being under that toxin. It was terrible, sickening, yet strangely exhilarating at the same time.

I waited for their debate to conclude itself, and when it did, I got the desired result. There seemed to be one issue, though.

"What about the security cameras? They'll know it's us who did it," said the first guard.

"Who cares? We can think of an excuse. Only reason Dixon had it coming to him was because he _admitted_ it," said the other.

"Alright…c'mon then, kid," said the first.

Once he had his back to me, leading me down through the manor house, I didn't have to fight the grin anymore. The other guard was left behind outside the room. At the back of the mansion there was a long corridor and at the end of this passage, there was a curiously twisted and eerily ornate door. The guard before me opened it and gestured for me to lead the way down the dark, dusty steps. I half expected sconces to spring to life, but instead, blue-white strip lighting flickered on above me. The tap of my cane echoed up the staircase.

When I reached the last step, I discovered a steel door, much like the one outside the gallery. There were two guards there, who immediately aimed their weapons at me. It seemed silly, really, if they aimed but weren't prepared to shoot. If they shot me, the Penguin would lose his only chance to gain whatever he wanted from the Scarecrow.

"Let her through," said the guard from outside my room, stepping up to my shoulder.

"What is this?" snapped a henchman beside the door.

"Orders from the boss," was the answer. "Just a little…motivation for Scary in there."

Such simple logic computed inside the two henchmen's brains, and so the steel door was opened and the lab was revealed.

Ugly steel work surfaces created a maze throughout the room. The diamond tiles on the floor were black and white, and fluorescent bulbs above shed harsh lighting in some places, yet cast long shadows in others.

There were no guards in the room. This fact surprised me as I stepped over the threshold. The door was left open.

Working to my left was the Scarecrow. He looked up as I entered.

His mask and scythe rested to one side. I hadn't seen his face since he had been arrested back in Greenvale, and the startling blue of his eyes struck me once again. It was so hard to tell whether they were clear, or whether they constantly twisting and untwisting pools of madness. Under that intense gaze, I became extremely self-conscious, aware that I leant on a cane.

Detaching from his powerful stare, my eyes darted upwards to a security camera lurking in the far corner. Its little red eye blinked at me from inside the shadows.

"It hasn't got audio," said the Scarecrow, turning back to what he had been doing. His voice still had that familiar rasp to it, but it wasn't as deep without the mask.

Funny how he had been able to tell what I was thinking.

"What are you working on?" I asked apprehensively. Were this any other conversation, I doubted I would have been able to formulate any kind of question, simple or otherwise. I didn't seem to have my social awkwardness when surrounded by henchmen or costumed criminals.

The Scarecrow's eyes flickered momentarily towards the three men just outside the lab. He crooked one finger, gesturing for me to come closer. I did, trying not to hesitate. I couldn't allow myself to be like that.

"The Penguin wants me to create a form of fear dust for him," he told me, voice low. He seemed eager to discuss his work.

"Why?" I raised an eyebrow, but whispered so that the conversation stayed between us.

"It's for controlling his henchmen. I assume you have noticed their…subjectiveness to his orders, and their lapses in respect," explained the Scarecrow. "Respect can only earn you so much. At the end of the day, it is fear that controls people, deep down. If the Penguin can make his henchmen _really_ fear him, then he will have complete command over them. Of course, he requires the very _Master _of Fear to make such a thing remotely possible."

I couldn't help but laugh at that. The short, sharp sound attracted the attention of the guards outside, however, so I cut it off shortly. The Scarecrow wore a smirk.

I had listened whilst he had talked, observing what he was working on, but now I couldn't help but look at the way the light caught his face. It looked so gaunt, shadows gathering beneath his eyes and in his concave cheeks. His dark hair, almost completely black, contrasted with the paleness of his skin, making him look sickly.

"How far along are you with creating the fear dust?" I asked, just as a door near the back of the room opened. I hadn't noticed it being there before. A woman stepped through it and I caught a glimpse of a similar lab on the other side.

I saw the Scarecrow's jaw grow taut, his whole demeanour becoming visibly tense.

"I see someone's been sharing out secret information," commented the other woman tartly. Her skin was so blanched, it was paler than my own or even the Scarecrow's. Her hair was pure white, but her face seemed young, and her eyes were a peculiar pinkish colour.

"Rebecca is not one of the Penguin's henchman. Only they are the ones I have to refrain from telling," objected the Scarecrow.

"I see. Rebecca, is it?" the albino woman raised a white eyebrow.

"B-Becky's fine," I told her, adjusting my clothes self-consciously.

"Dr Friitawa," the scientist outstretched her hand. I noted the Scarecrow's caution, the way he inched away from her the closer she got.

"Nice…to meet you," I said, tongue fumbling awkwardly as I gave my lawyer's smile. I shook the hand, noticing its cool, dispassionate touch. The Scarecrow snorted at my words.

"Something funny?" asked Dr. Friitawa coldly, stepping a little closer. The Scarecrow gritted his teeth and stepped away. "What's the matter? Are we _scared_?" The brief delight of torture flickered across her eyes.

"I do not feel fear," the Scarecrow said bitterly, giving me some surprise. "Not like you do, anyway. There is only one thing I am afraid of, and it isn't_ you, _Friitawa."

* * *

**A/N: Hey all! I'm back from a fab holiday, so here's a chapter for you! Sorry for the wait, updates will be more regular from now. Thanks once more to all my readers, followers and reviewers - let how you felt about this chapter, especially in regards to the Scarecrow's character! :) **


	5. Cravings

**Disclaimer: I'm not sure if I have to keep saying this, but I still don't own Batman.**

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I made my visits to the labs as frequent as possible. The guards never questioned the orders that were supposedly given by the Penguin. I soon learnt that the boss stayed away from the manor house for long periods of time, so no one really had the chance to double-check, even if they had felt the need to.

Most often, I would find myself perched on one of the steel surfaces, just watching the Scarecrow and Dr. Friitawa toil over the fear dust. The two of them only worked during the night, causing me to become nocturnal. I had always thought that I was used to solitude, but now I realized I simply tolerated it. The idea of having someone in this house that I could just _be_ around was what drew me to the lab every day.

Professionalism seemed to keep the two doctors from disputes most of the time, but there were regular lapses.

"I'm going to do a computer simulation," announced Dr. Friitawa, striding over to a state-of-the-art laptop.

"There's really no point," the Scarecrow told her condescendingly. "Those things are pathetically inaccurate compared to live testing."

"It's still safer too-"

The Scarecrow started to cackle.

"Last time I checked, we were not making this to be _safe_," he chortled. Hot anger sparked in Dr. Friitawa's eyes. She didn't like being interrupted, or contradicted, and the Scarecrow knew it.

"I think you should be far more open-minded, Dr. Crane."

"For the last time, there is no Dr. Crane. I go by Scarecrow now."

"Is that a no to the doctor part, or a no to the Crane part? Because I'm aware you had your medical licence revoked, along with your PhD, but if you're admitting to a multiple personality disorder…well, that _would_ be interesting," said Dr. Friitawa cuttingly. A smirk crossed her lips as the Scarecrow hissed, infuriated.

It was because of her attitude that I had learnt to strongly dislike Dr. Friitawa. If someone went against her will, she could turn into a spiteful demon. Until then, she could act like a respectful, perhaps even admiring scientist. That was another thing I disliked about her.

When the dawn came, I would always leave after saying something similar.

"Thanks again, for doing this," I said, not quite meeting that intense blue gaze. It didn't slip my mind that the Scarecrow could have another agenda for working on the fear dust, but I still refused to appear ungrateful. That was something else that Dr. Friitawa would regularly smirk at.

The first few times I said it, the Scarecrow didn't reply. Sometimes it was like he didn't even acknowledge my existence. Eventually, though, I prized a response from him, begrudging as it was.

"Don't thank me yet," he muttered. "I suspect the Penguin's deal has a catch."

His cynical viewpoint drew a small, inexplicable smile on my lips.

Despite what the Scarecrow had said, he and the other scientist managed to finish the fear dust sooner than I had hoped for. Having two of my previous escape attempts thwarted, I tried not to wish for freedom too hard.

Naturally, when the end product was created, Dr. Friitawa wanted to run a simulation on her laptop.

"How many times do I have to point out how useless that is?" sighed the Scarecrow irritably. He reached into the cabinet above my head and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. I hadn't realized that was in there. "Want some?" he offered me.

"I don't drink," I muttered.

"As in, ever?" he inquired.

"Well, I _have _done, I just choose not to."

"Smart kid," said Dr. Friitawa, tapping away at her computer. She idly started biting into a sandwich next to her. It had been on the side since I had entered the lab, but she had constantly been distracted from eating it. "Honestly, Dr. Crane, I don't see how you can skip out the computer simulation phase."

"Like I said before," the Scarecrow smiled crookedly, pouring whiskey into a tumbler. "I prefer live testing." He took a sip of his drink and sat down on the seat beside me, leaning against the work surface. His eyes slid across to Dr. Friitawa.

All of a sudden, her fingers stopped dancing over the keyboard. She swallowed.

"What is this?" she asked, voice hoarse.

"Why, my dear, it is the effects of your fear dust," the Scarecrow's words had a false tone of friendliness to them. "It is quite different to what you are seeing on your computer screen, is it not?"

"Make it stop." Dr. Friitawa appeared slightly breathless now. She turned around, her pupils dilated and anxious. I could see nerves starting to twitch. Despite the minor physical effects, I could tell by her expression that something a lot more sinister was unravelling beneath the surface.

"Not possible," said the Scarecrow. "The symptoms should wear off in a short amount of time, relatively speaking. Until then, just be grateful the dust is not nearly as potent as the gas." He took another sip from his glass. "I will go tell the Penguin that we have finished our research, shall I?"

"How did you do this?" asked the other scientist, clutching the sides of her head desperately.

"Piece of advice – don't leave sandwiches lying around too long. They go bad."

Finishing his drink, the Scarecrow put on his mask and strolled from the room, startling the guards outside. One followed him as he made his way up the stairs.

I too left the lab, finding it hard to be sympathetic for Dr. Friitawa, who was still functioning but looking decidedly vulnerable. I waited in my room, wondering how much longer I would be there. The anticipation of leaving was building up once more, like it had when Catwoman and I had arranged the deal in the gallery.

At the same time, I was wondering whether the Penguin would really honour his side of the bargain.

It wasn't too long before the rotund man appeared, tipping his hat in my direction and stepping through the door.

"The Scarecrow has finished his work," the man announced, appearing only slightly more amiable now he wasn't in the role of a kidnapper. "As promised, you are free to go."

He gestured with a small, heavily ringed hand to the open door, allowing me to step out first. We walked side by side through the manor house, cane and umbrella tapping out of time. There was silence between us. I had nothing to say to the man who had put me through this and slapped me twice around the face.

It was safe to say that I didn't have Stockholm syndrome.

The Scarecrow was waiting in the foyer, his natural ensemble of guards surrounding him. His eyes were fixed on me as I descended one of the twin staircases. They were hard to make out through the mask, but I still felt the weight of his gaze. His scythe fidgeted in his grip. He was anxious about how the next part would play out.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you," said the Penguin.

I would've given anything in that moment to see the expression under the Scarecrow's mask.

The man with the scythe merely nodded once and then waited expectantly. Cautiously, observing the surrounding henchmen, I stepped towards the double doors. The Scarecrow and I reached them at the same time, his hand resting on it.

"No catch, Cobblepot?" he inquired, turning back.

"Why, I am a _gentleman_ of crime, Dr. Crane," the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Didn't you expect me fulfil my promise?"

The Scarecrow grunted, pushing through the double doors and stepping outside. I followed him, cane tapping on the stone steps. I felt slightly dazed to be walking through fresh air. On the bluish horizon was a pink smudge, beckoning the arrival of dawn. For a while there was only silence and our footsteps on the gravel. I didn't speak until we had passed by the gatehouse and stepped onto the empty freeway.

Turning against the sunrise, in the direction of Gotham city, the Scarecrow wandered down the centre of the road.

"You really are fearless," I commented, checking over my shoulder for nearing traffic.

The Scarecrow laughed his twisted, almost cackling laugh.

"This is probably the most effective way to stop a car," he replied.

"Thank you for getting me out of that house," I said, feeling free for the first time in weeks. I guess strolling down an empty highway added to that feeling.

I was almost tempted to say that I owed him, but then I remembered the night back at the university. I figured we were even after that. Maybe.

There was a question I wanted to ask.

"Why did you co-"

From behind us came the sound of an approaching car.

The Scarecrow turned and stood steady in the centre of the road. I darted to the side, tempted to drag him with me. What was he _thinking_?

The car screeched to halt.

"What the hell?" slurred the driver through an open window. He was clearly drunk.

Marching up to the driver's door, the Scarecrow nearly wrenched it off its hinges before growling at the man inside.

"_Get out_," he said.

The driver started to fumble with his seatbelt, but then the Scarecrow grabbed hold of him. I looked the other way as I heard a heavy thud hit the tarmac.

Getting in the passenger side, I glanced at the man sliding his scythe into the backseat.

"Hold this, will you?" he then asked, tossing the hessian mask into my lap. I stared at it for a long while, running the coarse material between my fingers. Then I looked back at him.

So many feared the man opposite me, but I couldn't find the same fear inside myself. Those blue eyes didn't haunt me. His violent demeanour and skewed worldview didn't scare me. Maybe there was something wrong with my brain. Or perhaps it was because the Scarecrow had already done his worst to me, and I had come out better off because of it.

I remembered telling a doctor, after my time on the underground, that in a roundabout way, the Scarecrow had actually done me a favour.

Although he had previously been focussed on driving, his eyes met mine for an instant. I glanced away, scrutinizing my cane.

There was silence, but it wasn't the awkward one I was usually used to between me and other people. The light in the car grew, becoming clearer as morning approached. Few cars passed us on the way into the city, but traffic was already busy when we reached the first intersection.

I told him where he could drop me off.

"What?" he turned to look at me.

I repeated what I had just said. Most of the puzzlement disappeared from his face, but I still felt he had been expecting something different.

The car stopped in the alleyway just behind my tower block. Through someone else's window, I recognized the bleak courtyard and the dead tree at its centre. The crow was back. It looked like it was building a nest. Did birds even do that at this time of year?

It felt like an age since I had been here.

"Thanks again," I said as we both climbed out of the car.

"You need to stop saying that," the Scarecrow scowled at me, and then eyed the surrounding area. He gestured for the mask that was still in my hand. I passed it to him. Pulling it over his face, he retrieved the large scythe from the car and attached it to his back. "Do you remember the offer I gave you, the last time we met?" the Scarecrow's voice was low, tentative.

Oh God, I thought to myself, taking in a deep breath of frigid morning air.

"I remember," I said neutrally, strongly disliking the ominous feeling emanating from the man opposite me. As I spoke, my breath came out in clouds.

"I was wondering if you had reconsidered."

I couldn't disappoint him again, could I? It would be a replay of last time…but it had to be done.

"I-I can't, I'm sorry, I just…" I shook my head.

"I won't be offering again, Becky," his tone was more deadly than his scythe blade. It actually cut me inside, and I didn't know why. I had considered becoming the Mistress of Fear, more thoroughly than I cared to admit, but I didn't _need_ to do what he did, not like he thought. For some reason, I wanted him to understand that.

"I don't need to fight back like you," I told him. "This _is_ my way of fighting back. I've got to where I want to be in life, despite what they said-"

"But _they_ will never know!" snapped the Scarecrow. He closed the distance between us and grabbed me roughly by the shoulders, long fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. His deformed mask seemed to change its expression to anger, somehow.

I knew my eyes were wide, my figure hunched inward, and he saw it too.

"Are you scared, Becky?" his voice was like a shadow under his mask.

"An infuriated madman is grabbing me far too tightly, what do you _expect_ me to be?" I don't know where the snappishness came from, but it emerged from my mouth like Killer Croc from the sewers.

The Scarecrow's clawed fingers retracted, but I could still see his eyes smouldering.

"Why are you so _blind_?" he hissed. "I know you want to fight back! I know you want to be heard. I can see it in your eyes. Why can't you comprehend that this is a chance for you to get _help_?"

"_I'm_ the one that needs help?" I stepped away from him.

I could feel the anger rising inside the Scarecrow like a snake raising its venomous head. I didn't fear him still, not really, just his reaction. Any moment now his hand would reach back and unsheathe his scythe.

The slightest of sounds stopped him.

The vague trundling of a trolley-bag.

Checking back over my shoulder, I saw a grey-haired woman who I vaguely recognized as a neighbour. She was wheeling her shopping forward. When I looked back, the Scarecrow was gone. Disappeared, just like that. At first I thought the Batman may have swooped down and snagged him again, but that wasn't the case.

The elderly woman trundled on past me and I joined her in the elevator. We separated on my level, her having no idea that she might've just saved me from an extremely violent encounter with one of Gotham's most renowned super-villains.

When I reached my chipped, green door, I opened it with ease and found the apartment as I had left it. The thought of it being open to anyone for weeks unsettled me, but I checked every nook and cranny, finding nothing stolen, finding no one waiting for me.

A few moments later, something was slipped under my door.

Instantly wary, I shuffled over the carpet and bent to pick it up. It was a note, written on the back of someone else's letter.

_When you change your mind - Arkham Asylum, west complex. _

The writing was scrawled and spidery, listing out a set of directions. There was no mystery as to whose it was. I took a deep breath before pulling the door wide open.

No one was there.

I looked outside, but the walkway was empty too.

I even checked behind me as I closed the door, letter still in hand. Underneath the directions was another note. _Congratulations on your graduation._

Not wanting to know how _he_ knew about my graduation, not wanting to think about how his offer was still wide open, I ran into my bedroom and slammed the door. The walls and furniture were smothered in hues of green. I saw how inviting my pillow was. It wasn't long before I collapsed on top of the duvet, cane falling to the floor.

As sleep pulled me under, my mind was consumed by nightmares. Indistinct and meaningless, in a state between real slumber and consciousness, I became plagued with horrible dreams.

As I awoke, I put it down to my recent exposure to fear gas. It would sort itself out soon enough.

It didn't.

The week slipped by. I was alright during the days, which I spent job hunting or considering going for a Master's degree. Being a lawyer had been my dream for so long, for as long as I could remember the question 'what do you want to be when you're older?', but now the idea seemed stale. I tried to think back to when something had changed, but couldn't place it.

Maybe it had been when I had moved away from Greenvale, or the day I had graduated and seen people celebrating, all the while wondering if it was worth it. Academia could only get you so far in life.

That evening, I prayed desperately that I would have a peaceful sleep.

My prayers weren't answered.

I awoke remembering the ghosts of the nightmares. I knew that a dying dog would often chase me, and I had the unshakeable feeling that the Scarecrow had been in my latest one, even though I couldn't picture it.

Each morning, a headache would split my skull in two and I woke sweating and chasing away the remnants of fear. It wasn't real fear, however. What I was experiencing wasn't nearly as exhilarating as the real thing. It left me feeling drained.

I found some aspirin in my kitchen and swallowed them dry. I couldn't go on like this. Whatever the minimum sleep requirement was, that was all I was getting. I considered going to see a doctor, but all I saw was a man handing me a bottle of sleep pills. Or recommending alcohol before bed. I didn't need that.

As I stood in front of a mirror, I examined the dullness in my hazel eyes and the greyness of my skin. It made my hair stand out like an unruly red forest fire. My cheeks were pinched and stress had made me thinner. Just looking at my image, I knew what I needed. I needed real life injected into me.

There was only one place I was going to get it.

Recalling the Scarecrow's note, I boarded the Gotham Underground and got off on the platform at the station called Arkham Island. My cane tapped on the concrete, a solitary noise. I was the only one to get off here. I was the only one on the surface, too.

The asylum was built on an island surrounded by a muddy, sluggish river. Its stark grey walls grew out from the mound, the multiple complexes making it look like a half-buried corpse surrounded by an overgrown graveyard. Under the growing shadows of the incoming night, I made my way around to the west of the island, stopping when I found myself under a bridge.

Somewhere around here, there was an entrance. Rummaging around with my cane, I pushed aside brambles and ivy until I found a metal grate sunk into the side of the riverbank. I spent so long trying to open it, I thought I had the wrong entrance.

I shuffled into the tiny hole and fixed the grate back in its place. Leaving the fuzzy blue twilight behind me, I became swallowed by darkness as I crawled deeper into the tunnel. I had to move on my knees and fists, in order to keep hold of my cane.

My pulse picked up, my eyes suddenly becoming wide awake. It was all a result of fear. I hadn't felt this alert in days. At one point, I heard the hollow current of the river flowing above me.

Breathless and thrilled, I continued on into the tunnel until I saw light once more. Only a shabby wooden board protected the exit, so I pushed it over easily before stepping out on to Arkham Island. I was beside a wall, one made from giant grey slabs and topped with razor wire. Signs warned people about the asylum's inmates, and that this part of the island was scheduled for repair. Looking around at the miniature forest of wild plants and crumbling brick walls of the buildings, I figured this place was beyond saving.

I stepped onto a winding dirt track. Here, the note had told me that it was safe to walk out in the open. Brambles clawed at my jeans, but I didn't feel them underneath the grey denim.

The Scarecrow had told me which building he was in, and it didn't take me long to find the research facility. It fascinated me that he had been so sure I wouldn't give his directions to the police, or to the Batman. But then again, he was a psychiatrist. I suppose he had known that, after being so thankful to him for getting me out of the Penguin's manor, there was no way I could've had it in me to betray his whereabouts like that. The thought hadn't even occurred to me until now.

My breath fell wraithlike from my mouth into the cold air. Above me, the sky was the same colour as the sewage in the Gotham River. There were no stars. The full moon could barely make an appearance between the polluted clouds, but even so, it managed to illuminate an eerie scene.

The western side of this island really was forsaken.

I pushed open the double doors to a lab building, finding myself in a dark and empty corridor. It had once been white, but now the floor was lined with dirt and leaves from outside. I was tempted to shout 'hello' into the shadows, but I knew the possible silence afterwards would scare me.

"Hello?" I yelled at the top of my lungs.

My voice echoed twice, before fading like a ghost. Silence greeted me in return. Adrenaline pricked in my fingertips.

No one was in here. Had I got the wrong building? I walked on, reaching a further set of steel doors, pushing through them. A heat curtain wrapped itself around my shoulders briefly as I emerged in a laboratory.

_This_ room was stark white and clean. It was also so brightly lit, I had to wait for my eyes to adjust. When they did, I realized I was alone.

Wandering through the work surfaces, my gaze fixed upon three syringes to one side. They rested in a steel tray, toxic green liquid waiting inside them. Sweat beaded on my upper lip. My throat suddenly felt like sandpaper.

My hand reached for one of the syringes, picked it up, felt the smooth, cool plastic between my fingers.

What was I doing? I stared at the needle, cold and sterile in the harsh lighting.

Inside it was the liquid life I needed.

Not questioning my actions again, I pushed the sharp point into my flesh. The fear toxin entered my bloodstream.

* * *

**A/N: Hmm, yes, it is called 'Addiction' for a very literal reason. Tell me what you think about this turn of events... I thought it would take something fairly extreme for someone like Becky to deliberately seek out the Scarecrow, so here we have it. **

**On another note, my views seemed to have shot up recently! This is more than I hoped for for my first fic. I'd like to thank you all so much, it really means a lot! :) **


	6. Losing Grip

**Disclaimer: Nope, Batman still doesn't belong to me. And neither do Becky or Scarecrow. :) or rather :(**

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I recognized the sensation from almost a year ago. Last time I had been on the train, whilst my head was in a playground, hearing the schoolchildren scream and jeer at me. The same vision of a playground returned, even though there were still fragments of a laboratory left in it. I heard the faint echo of the names that the bullies had once called me, but they didn't reach under my skin. Not like last time. Instead, their horrible cries became swallowed by the howling wind. It blew rubbish across the bleak grey square. It was rimmed with tall, dark trees that I didn't remember being there before.

Even though it felt like I was sitting, crouched and huddled against a cold wall, I saw myself walking across the playground. It was like being in two bodies, but having the same mind.

I looked around, tassels of red curls obscuring my vision as the wind blew my hair over my face.

"Hello?" I shouted with all the breath in my body.

The answering silence hit me like a shockwave, slamming into my stomach and shattering my heart. I was knocked to my knees, breathless. I was alone here. So alone. I struggled to stand, pushing up with my hands and running towards the dark trees.

Instead of hitting a barrier, I passed right through them, emerging into a twisted, fairytale forest with snowdrifts lining my path. I followed the track, wanting desperately to find whatever was at the end. I looked down again as the wind blew cold over my skin.

I was wearing a white dress, all lace and silk and Swarovski crystals. When I looked up again, I was at a wedding ceremony, all the guest faceless, the minister faceless. As I stepped tentatively down the aisle and up to the altar, I realized the groom was faceless too. The familiar matrimonial question was spoken in my mind, although to my ears there was only silence. The faceless man before me said 'I do', but he still remained silent.

Now it was my turn.

"I d-" I couldn't get the words out. My tongue was made from lead. My stutter had swallowed the phrase whole. I couldn't say 'I do', even though I wanted to. I _really_ wanted to, and my impaired speech sent waves upon waves of fear crashing against my body, as though I were a lone island being battered by the sea.

Despite the fact he had no face, I could feel the anger rising in the man opposite me.

"P-please, I d-" the words caught in my throat again. They wouldn't come out, no matter how hard I tried. The moment was slipping away from me. I feared losing this chance. I had to say the words. I had to. But I couldn't.

Frustrated whispers rose from the faceless crowd. I heard the murmurs of the names I had once been called as a schoolgirl.

"Please!" I begged. "Please, no!"

I turned to see the bridesmaids and groomsmen, standing in the aisle. These did have faces, the ones of the kids who had bullied me all those years ago. They sneered, lips pulling back grotesquely as their familiar taunts grew louder.

The world around me fell apart until I was lying back on the cold, hard playground, completely alone apart from the bitter jeers that swarmed around me.

"Make it stop, _please_!" I pleaded through the tears, to whatever unseen force controlled my dream. Deep down, however, I knew I didn't want that. In this strange world I saw the truth in myself. I would be lying if I said I didn't delight in discovering my darkest fears, even if I didn't understand them. Engulfed by turmoil, I started screaming because of the painful ache resonating inside me. It felt so good to let it all free.

Shadows fell over me. The taunting children had followed me.

"Cripple," they said.

"Gimp," they said.

"_Freak_," they said.

All of a sudden, there was the sound of a scythe blade through flesh and blood soaked my skin. I could feel it and smell it and even taste it, but I couldn't see its redness.

"Becky," said a voice, shattering through my tormenting visions. This one was real. I could feel it in my soul. It was a warped, rasping voice, one that held power over my nightmares. It could only have belonged to the Master of Fear.

Blue eyes suddenly filled my world, breaking through the terror. The unmasked face of the Scarecrow lingered before mine, curious and deciphering.

The playground flashed before my eyes once more, convincing me nothing here was real. My hand reached out, resting on the gaunt face in front of me. The Scarecrow flinched under my touch, taking my hand and moving it away.

An intrigued smile cracked his lips apart.

"I thought my directions led you away from my traps, but no matter," he said. "Tell me, what did you see? What did you _feel_?It is hard to tell when the subject just begs for relief."

My numbed thoughts took a while to process this. There were traps on the western side of the island? He had never said. It didn't matter, so long as he thought that I had fallen into one and didn't realize I had _deliberately _injected myself with the fear toxin. The next thing to go through was his use of the word 'subject'.

"Becky? What did you see?" he asked again, more pressing.

"The playground," I managed to choke out. "The schoolchildren."

Frowning, the Scarecrow stood up.

"That's quite a strong effect for just fear gas," he commented, opening a cupboard underneath one of the lab's work surfaces. "Oh well. Anything else?"

"A wedding," I muttered. "There was a really strange wedding." I watched as he poured two inches of clear liquid into a glass. I grabbed my cane and tried to pick myself off the floor. "Give a girl some help?" I asked.

He came over, hauling me up from the cold tiles and handing me the glass.

"Drink this," he said. "It will help."

I took a sip as he turned away from me, before realizing it was straight gin and spitting it into a nearby sink.

"I can't drink this," I told him.

"You should," he grinned. "Doctor's orders."

I attempted to take another sip, sitting on a wonky stool and propping my cane up next to me. The Scarecrow continued opening cabinets and stashing away various forms of fear toxin, like he was tidying up for my arrival. He seemed too distracted to notice the missing syringe as he cleared away the other two. I made a mental note of where they went.

The gin burnt on the way down, but it did help elevate fear and stress that had built up like a knot in my brain. As soon as I felt its effect, I put the glass down.

"Because you have come," said the Scarecrow, glancing over his shoulder at me. "Can I assume you are now my Mistress of Fear?"

At first I considered telling the truth. Then I decided against it. I had thought that, after taking the fear toxin, any side effects it had given me would be cured. But I was wrong. I could feel the sleeplessness creeping back from behind my eyes, the faint headache reawakening. If I slept, there would be nightmares, barely frightening and insubstantial.

No, I wasn't cured yet. I had to stay here. It was the only place where I could access the toxin.

"It only took me a year's worth of reconsidering," I said. "And I'm _the _Mistress of Fear, not yours." I made sure to correct him.

Slipping off the stool, I went to stand beside the Scarecrow. He took out a Petri dish, one he had recently put away. It was filled with a glittering white powder, like fake snow on a film set.

"Is that the dust you were working on with Dr. Friitawa?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," he said. "It seemed a shame to leave all of my research in the insolent little hands of the Penguin. I decided it needed some more live testing."

"What's your plan?" I asked, hoping beyond hell that it didn't mean murdering someone. I wasn't sure if I could handle that. Experimenting with fear was fair enough, I mean, I had been through it and survived, right? My mind wasn't half as strong as what I imagined other people's would be.

"_Our_ plan is to test this on a few subjects that I will _acquire_ from the more forsaken parts of the asylum next door," his smile was miniscule yet still distinctly crooked. "Afterwards, we plan to combine this with the fear gas and spread it through the entirecomplex. I think a mass attack could easily be arranged as my little treat for Halloween, don't you?"

"How are you going to flood the entire facility? I heard the ventilation shafts are now monitored. It was mentioned in a newspaper. Waste of a page, too," I muttered.

"What strange news articles you must read. The rest of the city pretends to forget about the squalid asylum," said the Scarecrow.

I didn't tell him about the silly website I had followed for the past year, instead, I simply shrugged. He didn't need to know about my strange curiosity in the works of Gotham's more flamboyant criminals and their communal home.

"But still," he continued. "I have already solved that problem. Tell me, what is the one thing that has infested this island? The one thing that is almost impossible to prevent here?"

"Madness?" I offered a perfectly plausible answer. It received one of the Scarecrow's twisted laughs, kind of proving my point. "Save the questions for the Riddler next time," I scowled.

"Plants," the scientist answered his own question. "I guess you know of someone who can control them."

"Poison Ivy," I supplied.

"Precisely…and she's right next door."

"You plan to break her out?"

"_We _plan to break her out," the Scarecrow corrected once again. "Soon enough, that is. I want to complete my finer research first."

"Anything I can do?"

"Tomorrow I will start to teach you how to make and use the fear toxin. Until then, it looks like you need rest." His blue eyes narrowed as I tried to stifle a yawn. He was right. Tiredness was beginning to pull down at my senses.

The Scarecrow led me out of the lab and into a building just across from it. There were cells for inmates down one side, and restrooms around one corner. I had no idea what this part of the island had been used for, I was just grateful to see a reasonably clean bed. I walked through the open door and was asleep before my face hit the pillow. That was it. My head had taken enough.

I woke up at dawn. It was an unhealthy colour, diluted by the filthy clouds that constantly smothered the sky. In my mouth was the dry, bitter taste of fear. My eyes felt like they wanted to close all over again, and the familiar drumbeats of a headache began in my forehead.

The ghosts of last night's dreams were evanescent. I realized my skin was coated in a fine layer of sweat.

Stepping out of my cell, I noticed some black bin bags outside my door. I kicked them once, unsure if I actually wanted to see inside, but my foot only hit something soft. I knelt down and began rummaging through the liners, finding all the little bitty essential things I might need whilst being here.

I went into the restroom to see if the women's showers still worked. To my surprise, they did. The water that was still pumped to this place was freezing cold, but that was fine by me. The icy trickle managed to wash away everything apart from the headache and the nausea that rolled in my stomach. I really didn't feel like eating, even though I doubted there was any food lying around.

Although I dabbled with the fear dust during the morning, my few hours of teaching barely scratched the surface.

"How much of this stuff would you need to get the same effect as the pure toxin?" I inquired.

"I doubt it would be possible," scoffed the Scarecrow. "This dust is only designed for_ intimidation_ purposes. The pure toxin is used to produce overwhelming hallucinations, to root out deeper fears."

"I _know_ what the pure toxin does," I said, with the tiniest smile. "Did you get the first of your test subjects today?"

The Scarecrow spent a lot of his time in one of the other buildings, working on what he called his 'finer research'. As long as my brain didn't really register this in too much detail, that was fine by me. In between such times, I was slowly learning how to create the horribly complex fear gas that was now supposed to be my main weapon as the Mistress of Fear.

On my second night there, I was aroused from sleep by my own screams, and after their echoes had died, the crushing silence surrounded me. Unable to sleep, I rolled out of bed and put on the coat that I had originally worn to this place. After having woken up drenched in sweat the previous night, I had decided not to wear much the following.

It was cold outside. Freezing, really. My lips went numb in seconds, the frigid air found its way underneath my buttoned coat, and it wasn't long before I lost sense in my fingers. I knew I was holding my cane, but I couldn't feel it. The earth was hard beneath my bare feet. A familiar ache blossomed in the small of my back.

I followed the clouds of my breath through the winding paths, avoiding the worst patches of brambles whilst repeatedly glancing up at the sky. The clouds parted just enough to reveal an ugly, yellow moon leering down at the island. It was the only light I had to go by. Dark and cold, I felt strangely at peace.

When I began shivering violently, I looked to the buildings behind me, intending to go back. No doubt the Scarecrow would be in one of them, experimenting with the fear dust. He never seemed to cease in his research. I hadn't seen him eat or sleep yet. Not that I could judge him. I hadn't eaten either with the nausea turning over in my stomach. He was yet to notice.

As I made my way back to the buildings, my usual headache crawled out from whatever cavern it hid within. I tried to be sick, but nothing came up.

Like I sometimes did when passing through the complex, I heard the guttural screams and violent noises that accompanied the Scarecrow's experiments. A metal chair struck the floor, the words that followed it were enraged, growled and indistinct. Whimpers came shortly after.

I knew the Scarecrow had a temper, a switch inside him that could change his mood from calm and consolidated to infuriated in a moment. I did everything I could to avoid flipping that switch. Although he could do much worse to me, the thing I feared most was being forced to leave this island. It was only here that I had access to the fear toxin whenever I needed.

On my third night on the island, the line between waking and sleeping blurred, but when conscious thought returned, I realized I had been crying for a very long time. I was curled under the blankets, sobbing with animalistic noises. As always, it was hard to remember the nightmares beforehand, but I knew it had merely caused anguish, not fear, and that wasn't good enough.

Wiping away the worst of the tears, I sat up in bed.

"Bloody hell," I said viciously, pulling the blankets back around me. And not just because it was fiercely cold, either. A dark figure was standing behind the metal bars of my door. "Don't do that, you scared me."

"I think this is the first time you've admitted as such," the Scarecrow leered. "Let me just saviour the moment."

I rested my head on my knees, feeling the standard symptoms returning to me.

"What's wrong?" asked the man on other side of the door. He took off the mask he had been wearing.

"I-I've just had trouble sleeping recently, that's all," I told him. It wasn't a lie, it just wasn't the whole truth. I felt my limbs start shaking, and I knew what I needed.

The rest of the day was torture for me. I had to work with the fear toxin whilst licking my lips and not touching any of it. I prayed that I would have enough self control to keep away, just a little longer, just until the Scarecrow disappeared during the night to visit his latest subject.

As soon as the door shut behind him, I searched the cabinet the toxin was usually kept in. Huge green vials of the stuff were stacked up next to each other, shimmering faintly in the dim light. I found syringes in the draw above. It took no time at all to transfer the green toxin into it.

Just then, the Scarecrow came back in.

I hid the needle behind my back quickly, delicately holding it with my fingers. I had already stashed away the vial.

"You look guilty," he commented, retrieving some more fear dust from a different part of the lab.

"Startled," I corrected him, angling my body to keep the toxin hidden from his line of sight. He didn't seem to notice my awkward behaviour.

My fingers were becoming slippery.

The Scarecrow turned and left again and I breathed out a sigh of relief.

I stole away, searching for another building where I could remain undisturbed. There was a small one at the tip of the western side, dedicated to office space. It was here that I curled up in a tatty chair and injected the fear toxin into my bloodstream.

I heard a faint groan of pleasure before falling fast into a _real_ set of nightmares.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought, especially about Becky's halluncination. Thank you to all of those who have been following and reviewing this story, your support means the world to me! Until next chapter, then! :D Does anyone here like spoilers? Just wondering. ;)**


	7. Nightmare

**Disclaimer: Batman and all characters/places mentioned below aren't mine. The asylum is kind of based on Batman: Arkham Asylum as well. :)**

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For the next fortnight, my actions went unnoticed. Or so I thought. Occasionally I would feel a suspicious gaze on me, but whenever I followed it, the Scarecrow would've already glanced away. I put it down to the fact I was still new, and that he might not trust me completely. That was fine. Just so long as he didn't know the truth.

In the labs, I had finally been able to concoct my own toxin, learning that it was incredibly difficult to make it with the same potency each time.

"You are a remarkably quick learner," commented the Scarecrow.

"You sound surprised," I replied, turning my face away when I felt a blush rising. My fingers fumbled with the fear toxin that I was working with. I always felt clumsy beside him, but he somehow managed to manoeuvre around my stinted style of work.

I felt the stirring of hunger in my stomach, but I ignored it. Obviously, I had eaten in the past two weeks, but only when I repeatedly reminded the Scarecrow that eating was a necessity. Before my arrival, I wouldn't have been surprised if he had starved himself. It wasn't hard to figure out where he got the food. It tasted like it was from a prison. Not that it mattered. All food had lost its flavour to me over the past few weeks. No doubt terrorizing Arkham's stock supplier was what gave me something to eat, and having the good work ethic that I did, I would offer to do this instead of the Scarecrow having to do it for me.

"Don't be ridiculous," he waved it off. "I want your first outing as the Mistress of Fear to be something _bigger_."

"Such as?" I inquired.

"Breaking out Poison Ivy, maybe," the Scarecrow shrugged. "But that will just be your initiation. Then we will flood the entire asylum with fear."

I imagined the place screaming in terror. It gave me an odd feeling. I wondered if all the inmates and staff alike would have a similar hallucination, a mass delusion, creating a fantasy world between them. I had to wait until Halloween to see.

"I want a name," I announced suddenly. "The Mistress of Fear is just a title."

"Choose whatever you like, my girl, just make it something you can stick with," said the Scarecrow dismissively. A slow smile crossed his face and then disappeared like the sun behind a cloud. "Follow me." He beckoned with his finger, leading me to a tall metal cabinet in the corner of the room. It was almost a closet, really. When the metal door opened, it revealed a tattered brown costume. "I've had this since last year. I considered burning it, but…I figured you might change your original answer to my request."

He left me to change into it. _It_ consisted of tall brown boots, a bodice, and a tail skirt. It was safe to say that I felt extremely self-conscious in the costume. When the Scarecrow returned to the lab, he held a hessian mask in his hand, along with a dark cane that split in two, the top part becoming the handle for a blade. They were for me. The mask would only hide my face, leaving my hair exposed.

"I have no idea how to use this," I said, referring to the blade.

"If you are truly the Mistress of Fear," grinned the Scarecrow, flashing white teeth. "You won't need to."

The Scarecrow planned to release Poison Ivy soon, so we worked constantly, day and night, infusing the fear gas into strands of straw. They would snap like glo-sticks, releasing the airborne toxin. The night before we planned to break out Ivy, I felt the effects of my sleeplessness worse than ever.

"Are you still having nightmares?" asked the Scarecrow. It was the first time he had inquired after my welfare without a prompt.

"Yeah, is it obvious?" I rubbed my eyes tiredly.

"Absolutely, you look terrible." It wasn't even sarcasm.

"Well, you're not much of a stunner yourself," I snapped, not sure why his remark on my appearance bothered me so much. "When did you last eat, anyway?"

He froze in his work, tilting his head to one side as he tried to remember.

"I must have done sometime," he said.

Stealing away, I dosed myself with fear toxin so my usual symptoms wouldn't impair me with the breakout. Whilst wearing my costume, I was conscious of the needle marks in the crook of my elbow. They were faint, but to me they were as obvious as hell. I prayed to God that they would go unnoticed.

When the night of the breakout arrived, I had to admit that I was actually looking forward to it, licking my lips in anticipation. If I had been in the right state of mind to look back at myself, I would've been horrified at the change. My use of the fear toxin had twisted my sanity. I was kept a prisoner on the island by its allure. But it had been my choice. It had been my choice to use it, and so it was my fault.

"Have you decided on a name?" asked the Scarecrow as we moved through the cold, untamed wreckage that had become the western complex of Arkham.

"I have," I told him. I had thought of it after waking up. Because I had taken the toxin the night before, I hadn't been shaking and crying like I did when I was at my worst, but I could still feel the haunting dreams lingering in my head. "Nightmare."

A ghost of a smile lit the Scarecrow's blue eyes for a moment, before he put on his mask and all expression disappeared.

"How fitting," he mused.

"I thought so," I replied.

I too tied my mask over my face. Its mouthpiece felt strangely heavy because of the filters that would protect me from the fear gas.

The Scarecrow led me to the wall that separated the western side of the island from the main complex. There was a tunnel dug underneath it, similar to the one beneath the bridge, and it led to the sewers under Arkham. The mouthpiece did nothing to filter out the stench.

We followed the system in silence, aware that every movement echoed. My footfalls and cane scuffed against the wet, dirty concrete, whilst the Scarecrow's tread was but a whisper. I tried to mimic his actions, creeping along in that animalistic crouch of his. Although he was lithe and thinner than I was, even after two or three weeks of undernourishment, I realized he must be incredibly strong to hold that gait.

Eventually the sewers connected with another manmade tunnel, one which we followed out of the dank, dark cesspit and up to a seemingly abandoned courtyard. We were on the south side of the island, and it looked in a barely better condition than the west.

"Grab one of those," ordered the Scarecrow, gesturing to a stack of small compost bags. They sagged against each other, old and forgotten. Clearly no one had bothered to spend the money finishing this courtyard.

"Why?" I asked, making my way over and hauling it into one arm. It was heavy, but not unmanageable.

"You'll see," he said, disappearing back the way we came.

"Did you build all these?" I was referring to the tunnels.

"I built the ones leading to the west side, but the inmates have been constructing this network for years. They all lead to places on the island that are blind spots in Arkham's security."

Quiet descended once again. There was barely any light in the tunnels, but I had never been scared of the dark, and I trusted the Scarecrow to lead me through them. His navigational skills around Arkham seemed impeccable.

We emerged in what I assumed to be the high level facility of the asylum. The ventilation shaft we were now in was far above the ground. Looking over the Scarecrow's shoulder, I could see multiple, armed guards wondering around a circular holding cell. It appeared to be made from glass. Red light filtered down into the room.

"What's that noise?" growled one of the uniformed men. I froze, knowing that he had heard the scraping sound of the compost bag being pushed over the base of the ventilation shaft. The Scarecrow held up a finger, signalling for me to be quiet. All I could hear was my own hot breath behind the hessian mask I wore.

"It was nothing, Pete, you're just hearing stuff again," said another guard.

"Yeah, man," said a separate voice. "You're going crazy. End up in this place yourself if you ain't careful."

While the three men had been talking, the Scarecrow had reached down into his boot and brought out a straw. He snapped it and pushed it through the ventilation cover. He did this three times.

The guards barely had time to notice. Green gas filled the room, rising to the ceiling, swallowing them all within moments. By the time one ran to alert security, it was too late. As the screams began, the Scarecrow removed the grate in front of him and dropped nimbly into the room. I followed, pushing the compost bag down before me. Somehow, I had managed to manoeuvre it through the tunnels along with myself and my cane.

Wading through the blinding gas, I dragged the bag after the Scarecrow's silhouette, dropping it next to the edge of the glass cell.

A green hand pressed against the transparent wall.

I didn't jump back. _I _was the scary one here.

Poison Ivy appeared, a halo of red light caught in her equally red, feral hair. The gas hadn't reached her inside the cell.

Alarms started to blare, but the Scarecrow moved to lock the doors.

"What is this?" asked Poison Ivy, staring at me with vivid green eyes. Her voice sounded both demonic and seductive at the same time.

"This is your chance to escape," I told her, surprised at how menacing and warped my own voice sounded.

"But only if you agree to do something for us in return," added the Scarecrow, appearing through the green mist.

Somewhere out of sight, the three guards had collapsed into screaming wrecks of fear. Their pleas for help barely reached my ears. They were enjoying it, really, deep down. The fear was what made them alive.

"Why should I do something for _you_?" snarled Poison Ivy.

"Because the plants are at risk if you don't," I said, fumbling for a threat. "Think of the destruction we could wreak upon them. Does that _scare_ you? The thought of so many plants _withering _and _dying_?"

My words were having no effect on Ivy, so the Scarecrow tried a different strategy.

"Think about the men that have kept you here, Ivy, away from the earth…away from the sunlight." In tune with his thoughts, I disappeared into the toxic fog, finding the controls for the lights. Brilliant white beams flooded the room, causing swirling, ghostly patterns in the gas. I heard Ivy groan as her veins glowed green.

"This is your chance for _revenge_," I finished, moving closer once again.

A beautifully twisted smile graced Ivy's lips.

"You know how to talk to me…"

"Nightmare," I filled in for her.

"Huh. Scarecrow and Nightmare. What a team," she laughed.

"Do we have your agreement, then?" inquired the Scarecrow.

"Get me out of this cell, my lovely, and I'll agree to anything you like," she winked at him.

I hoped that the mouthpieces on the masks filtered out the pheromones that Ivy secreted through her skin.

Locating one of the screaming guards, I reached for his security pass.

His head snapped up. His grey eyes went wide with undisguised terror, and a primal scream erupted from his mouth. Strong yet trembling hands reached for me, clawed for an attack. I barely had time to move before the guard seized me, pushing me back onto the floor. My knee shot up into his stomach, and although he stopped screaming, his onslaught was no less vicious. I was still pinned down.

I couldn't defend myself. I knew what I could've done to beat the man, I just wasn't physically capable of shaking him off.

Before the guard could lay another finger on me, the Scarecrow hauled him up roughly, striking him across the face and slamming him into the wall. But he didn't stop there. The guard was kicked once more in the belly and then in the nose as he fell down. My breath was coming fast as I stared up at the Scarecrow. He offered down a hand. I took it.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Peachy," I said, taking back my hand.

I found the guard's security pass and opened the circular glass cell. The Scarecrow stepped in, the first dregs of toxic green fear gas floating in after him.

"Bring in the compost," he instructed.

I did as he asked, joining them in the cell. Pulling out a knife, the Scarecrow slashed open the bag and its contents spewed over the floor.

"Where are we headed, honey?" Ivy smiled at me. I felt my heart melt slightly.

"The western side of Arkham," I told her as she stepped on the compost pile. She gestured for the Scarecrow and I to join her.

All of a sudden, Poison Ivy closed her eyes and drew into herself, veins glowing green once more. The compost underneath my feet moved. A great, bulbous plant grew around us and swallowed us all. Everything went dark. Outside, there was a tremendous rushing sound.

Just as claustrophobia threatened, we emerged in a small copse on the southwest tip of the island. The plant disappeared and Ivy dropped immediately into a meditative stance. She looked exhausted.

"We are currently based in the abandoned research buildings," said the Scarecrow.

"I'll remain here," announced Ivy. "Outside."

In the distance, I could hear the deep, resonating alarm and the commotion that warned of an escaped prisoner. High up in the dark clouds, I saw the silver torch of the Batsignal. The Scarecrow's gaze was fixed upon the symbol too. He had removed his mask, blue eyes staring up in wonder and something else…something I had never seen in him before. It was fear.

"He won't find us, not _here_," I said.

"I know," he replied, and I thought that he almost sounded disappointed.

"Can we trust that you'll stay here?" I turned back to Poison Ivy.

"Don't worry, honey, those men in there have tormented me for months on ceaseless end. I won't be going _anywhere_. Not until I have my revenge," she said.

The Scarecrow and I left her resting in the copse. We moved out over the bracken and brambles.

Suddenly, a hiss forced its way through my teeth, my hand reaching for the sharp pain in the small of my back. I was used to an ache, but now the throb had increased tenfold. It must have been because of my crawling through the cramped tunnels.

"What's wrong?" asked the Scarecrow, holding the door open as we entered the main research lab.

"Nothing," I bit out, forcing myself to walk on, and to keep my hand at my side.

The Scarecrow had already seen, however. I didn't see him move, but I suddenly felt his hand against my skin, just the lightest of touches, his fingers instantly locating the pain. I gasped at the sudden relief, feeling shivers run up my spine. I swallowed, expecting him to move away, wondering if he had noticed my reaction. He drew nearer.

"Is that any better?" he asked, voice subdued.

"Yeah," I said, taking off my mask so that my voice sounded normal. "Thanks."

"You're most welcome," he said.

I didn't know where the moment had come from, or what had caused his abrupt change in demeanour. I had always felt he was distant, suspicious and cold. Now, so close to me, I realized he was anything but.

One finger trailed slowly towards my hip, and then gently along my arm.

"What are these?" the Scarecrow asked, his tone shattering whatever mood had been created.

I looked down to where the needle marks were, a reddish brown, almost impossible to see in the darkness but now painfully obvious in the light. He had noticed them.

Panic dawned on my face as his fingertips ran over them. I tried to think of an excuse, anything that would make this situation acceptable. For the first time in a long time, I felt real, natural, _tangible_ fear. It left me breathless.

The Scarecrow saw it in my eyes.

"You're scared," he said. "What are you afraid of?"

"Being judged," I whispered.

It was the same fear I had had all those years ago, the one I had told him before on the Gotham Underground. Only this time, it had changed slightly. It didn't matter to me anymore if I was judged for my appearance, but this was something else entirely.

"Becky, how did you get those needle marks?" I could see that he was fascinated by the fear and apprehension in my eyes. Beyond that fascination, I couldn't make out whether there was genuine concern involved or not.

"I...It's…" I looked away, unable to face him. "Fear toxin," I told a nearby cabinet.

I didn't want to look at him, to see the reaction to my confession, but he turned my chin to face him.

"Are you saying that you have been administering pure fear toxin into yourself? Repeatedly?"

I couldn't tell from the tone in his voice whether he was angry or disappointed or shocked, so I merely nodded, heart pounding at a million miles an hour. I wondered what his response would be, when it finally came out.

He turned away and stared at the floor, as if the grouting revealed the deepest mysteries of life to him.

"I can't help it," I tried to explain with a timid voice. "I feel awful without it. The nightmares, the headaches, the sleeplessness, it all goes away when I take the toxin. I don't know how long it will be until I'm cured, but-"

"Cured?" the Scarecrow echoed the word in amazement.

"Yeah…it's like, when you take aspirin for a regular headache, the headache goes away eventually, right?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Sure," said the Scarecrow. A wicked grin suddenly splitting his lips. "Sure, it's like you need to finish a course of antibiotics you're on, and then you'll be fine."

Looking back, if I hadn't been so oblivious to my unhealthy nature, I might not have seen reassurance in the Scarecrow's smile. The emotion in his blue eyes softened, and he took hold of my arms gently. Everything inside me should have screamed _don't trust him_, but I was in denial about what I was doing to myself. He saw that. He intended on using it.

"I'm going to help you through this, Becky," he promised me sincerely.

"Really?" I hated the surprised, yet hopeful note in my voice. "You can fix me?"

"Absolutely. From now on, I'm going to need to examine your reaction to the fear toxin. We need to tailor your medicine specifically for _you_."

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**A/N: So now he knows...and Red's come on to the scene. What do you think? Let me know! I'd also like to say an enormous THANK YOU(!) to all of my readers, I woke up this morning to find my views are now over 1,000! Thank you SO much, especially to my reviewers and followers! I love hearing from you! :')**


	8. Twisted Minds

**Disclaimer: Batman still isn't mine, but I met a man dressed up as him. **

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"Are you ready for this?" asked the Scarecrow.

"Are you sure it's going to work?" I replied.

I was sitting on top of a work surface in the lab, shoulders hunched down. It had only been a day since the Scarecrow had discovered my addiction, but since then I had felt a strange tension between us. No matter how he acted, he still judged me for what I did. I swung one leg idly as he prepared two sets of toxin. Still, he had promised to fix me.

"No," said the Scarecrow as he gestured for me to get down from the side. "The chance of two people sharing the same hallucination is unlikely, even at the best of times, but we have to try."

Slipping off the side, I went to sit against a wall. The Scarecrow sat down beside me, syringes in hand, eyes locked on to my face.

"Give me your arm," he said.

I remembered last time, the playground, the taunting children, and all the while the Scarecrow had stood there and watched. If I recalled it correctly, I thought there may even have been tears in his eyes. He could relate to a troubled childhood, but I wondered what he would make of my most recent hallucinations. Not even I understood them.

But if there was ever going to be a man that I would trust with my deepest of fears, it could only be him.

I extended my arm.

"Get on with it," I told him.

When the Scarecrow slid the needle under my skin, I barely felt it, or when the toxic green fluid entered my bloodstream. It made the way I did it look so clumsy and thoughtless.

"Are you scared?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," I said truthfully.

"That's a good sign," he said.

Before I lost my min completely, I saw him inject himself with the other syringe. At first I felt a grip around my wrist, but that fell away the further I descended into the nightmare. There were flashes of colour, of emotions, of _fear_. A mottled grey sky appeared above me, patches of light and dark, swirling and moving in an odd fashion between the two horizons.

A cold wind deposited me on dry leaves and loam. When I looked up, tall hedgerows had grown around me, their tops scraping the stormy sky.

I was in a maze, alone.

My breath came thick and fast. I didn't know where I was or how I could get out of this place. A crow cawed overhead and I looked up to see it flying beneath the clouds. I decided to follow it.

The bird only flew in a straight line, and eventually I did reach a corner, but that was fine by me. All I needed was a heading. Now I was free to run. Some sense of navigation was now directing me between the leafy green walls.

Odd things happened as I ran. The leaves I kicked up didn't fall down, they remained suspended in the air. They drifted slowly around themselves, like they were floating in a vacuum.

The hedgerows bent backwards as I moved, like they were trying to stop me. My hand brushed against the leaves and was cut. Silent lightning flashed in the sky, a brilliant purple colour, although no thunder came after. I could see rain falling above me, but it never reached past the top of the hedge. It dissipated into the nothingness of my delusional mind.

Eventually, when I was out of breath, I stopped just before a clearing and rested. My world tilted. Was this it? Why had I stopped here?

Lightning flashed again. Looking into the clouds, I noticed the silver torch of the Batsignal drifting along on the tumultuous, dark sea.

"_Get me out of this cell, my lovely, and I'll agree to anything you like_," Poison Ivy's alluring voice drifted to my ears from behind a hedge. I followed it, wondering if she, the queen of all plant life, could somehow tell me how to escape this maze.

I felt my throat constrict as I rounded the corner, the first stirrings of premonition trickling icily through my veins. I wasn't going to like what I saw.

Poison Ivy sat in the centre of the clearing, surrounded by a latticed metal cage. Inside, more of it sprung from the ground, attaching on to her like vines, cutting through her skin and pinning her down. Her pained eyes were fixed upon the Scarecrow, who wielded his scythe and managed to slice through the wire, sparks flying as metal cut metal into tiny shards. He offered a hand down to Ivy and she accepted it graciously with a coy look on her face.

"_Thank you_ so _much_," she breathed, elegant green fingers reaching for the mask on the Scarecrow's face. It came away easily as he holstered the scythe. I saw Ivy close the distance between the two of them, both hands guiding his lips down to hers. I could see the effects of her poison kiss, but that didn't seem to bother him. He just kissed her back. The way he held her sent hot, searing jealousy into my bloodstream.

A cold wind whipped around my still, solitary figure.

"Interesting hallucination you have here," commented an amused voice from behind me. I whirled around to see that I wasn't on my own after all.

The Scarecrow stood there, unmasked as he had been before the start of the dream. My gaze swung between him and the other version I had created with my mind. I felt heat rush to my face, my own embarrassment causing a hedge to rise up, blocking the scene before us.

"I can't be blamed for that. It was purely subconscious," I said.

"True," he muttered as a slow smile crossed his pale face. "We need to move," he then added, all amusement melting into a fleeting expression of fear. The emotion seemed so foreign on him, I felt my heart clench in something close to pity.

Above us, I could see the Batsignal scouring the stormy sky.

It was heading towards us.

Without another word, the two of us began running through the hedge maze. Sometimes the walls would close in, or sometimes it would take so much effort just to run down one short passageway. All the while, I could feel the foreboding of a hunter bearing down on prey.

As I ran, I wondered if the man beside me was really there or just another version of him created by my head. His blue eyes were wild with pure, unmitigated fear and his breath fell as clouds into the cold air. His stride took him further ahead, I knew I was slowing him down, but he wouldn't let me fall behind. Grabbing my hand, he led me on through the green maze, his touch the only warm thing in this now freezing environment.

No matter how far or fast we moved, the Batsignal travelled further and faster. The last few moments were the worst. The Scarecrow fell to his knees, clutching his head and gasping erratically. I tried to get him to move but he wouldn't. Then I too succumbed to that icy, paralyzing fear.

The silver torch came closer, closer, until its bright light swallowed us both. There was a strange sensation of falling upwards.

I lost the Scarecrow in the blinding light. Fear's terrible hands clawed at my soul, forcing out screams that left my throat raw and my cheeks wet.

I was deposited once more into darkness, shivering and shaking.

Standing unsteadily, I glanced out at the chaotic cityscape before me. People were running and great columns of fire were rising into the polluted heavens. I could hear screams and cries and car alarms. Directly beside me was the torch that shone a symbol of a bat into the clouds. My fingertips reached out, touching the glass on top. I expected it to be hot, because of the blazing white light that it glared, but instead it was so cold it hurt to touch.

A tumult of emotions ran up my arm, invading my bloodstream and entering my brain. Yet again I was somewhere else, walking down a yellowish green corridor that tilted around me. I couldn't pick myself up, but I wasn't falling. My whole world was twisting as I walked down this corridor, a million feelings bombarding my thoughts.

Everything was so muddled and my mind was so numb I couldn't untangle the mess. All I knew was that I felt cold and I kept seeing bats and dark birds, roosting in the corner of my eye. I suddenly became very aware that I was in someone else's mind.

The doors on either side of me aroused both my curiosity and my apprehension. What lay on the other side? What happened if I opened one? I knew they were unlocked, somehow, I just didn't have the courage to go through them.

I looked behind me to find the hallway being swallowed by darkness. There was no turning back. I had to move on. The closed doors were disappearing.

At the end of the passage, this one met another. My tipsy vision tilted both ways. One was shrouded by thick, green fog, which gave me the kind of fear that sent sparks of adrenaline into my fingers. The other was long, long and long, so long that it twisted at the end as though it guided me into oblivion. That one gave me the kind of fear that sent my mind into the wild, primeval panic which crippled all rational thought.

I plunged into the fog. I don't know where I ran, where I stumbled, whether there were doors either side of me or not. All I heard was a whimper, an insistent crying that guided me like a beacon. My foot hit something solid and I fell to the ground, my whole world turning a somersault once again. Everything in this place was so tangled.

My eyes picked something out in the green mist, a figure lying beside me. A sea of red hair tumbled over its face and a cane lay between us.

It was me.

Her hazel eyes glowed in the shadows beneath her hair. They bored into mine, imploring, pleading. I recognized this scene, this expression. I had worn it on the train. Tears pricked in both our eyes.

"Don't judge me," begged the other Becky.

"I understand," I heard myself saying. My voice sounded funny. It was deeper.

I reached for the girl lying beside me, and when I did, I noticed that there was something wrong with my hand. It was pale and wiry and distinctly masculine. I knew whose it was, but it wasn't mine.

I screamed.

Lurching forward, the hallucination fragmented into a thousand tiny shards as my sanity returned to me. Sweet air was sucked into my lungs. My head spun as it tried to take in the familiar lab. It felt as though I had surfaced after spending a long time underwater.

All the while, I was smiling.

"That was amazing," I gasped, resting my forehead on my knees.

"I know," said a nearby voice. "Fascinating. I've never shared a hallucination like that before."

I looked up to find that the Scarecrow had already broken out of the twisted dream we had created together. He was scribbling away notes, metallic pen flickering in the lamplight. There was no mistaking the spark in his eyes, or the feverish way he worked. This really was fascinating to him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, sparing a glance for me as I stood shakily and grabbed my cane.

"I will be," I told him. "At the end there…what happened to you?" He noticed my hesitance.

"I was in an abandoned play-park, everything was vandalized apart from-"

"-the swings?" I ventured, wondering if I knew the place.

"Yes."

"That was a scene from when I was six. Does a corridor mean anything to you?"

"I've been down a lot of corridors in my life, Becky."

His comment brought a smile to my lips, and when the Scarecrow noticed he did a double-take with his eyes.

"I felt so…odd," I mused. "Everything was so vivid in that last part, and so foreign."

"How did you feel?" asked the Scarecrow neutrally.

"Lost," I replied, aware that his concentration had returned to scribbling again. I tried to read his expression, to see if my description of everything I had felt meant anything to him. "What did _you _feel?"

The Scarecrow stopped momentarily in his work. I saw how messy his handwriting was and attempted to decipher it.

"Alone," he said. "It was…complete solitude, cold and empty. You do realize these are your emotions, the things you fear feeling."

"Is that actually possible?" I wondered aloud. "What if we imagined the whole thing?"

"Likely, but I don't think that's true in this scenario."

If I had been inside his head, there was no trace of that loss or confusion on his face. But at the same time, I wouldn't have described myself as lonely.

"Next time, I want to try something stronger," announced the Scarecrow.

"If you think that'll help me," I agreed uncertainly.

"Of course," said the Scarecrow, but he didn't meet my eye.

The four syringes in the tray I was holding rolled from side to side, clattering slightly with each step. For once, they weren't mine.

Sunshine was doing its best to break through the ghostly smog that hung in Gotham's skies, brightening the day but doing nothing to hide how dismally ruined the western side of Arkham was. I was following the path up to the small copse where Poison Ivy spent all her time. Originally, the place had been dead or dying, bleak and barren. Since she had inhabited it, the little space where she resided was lush and green, colourful yet suspicious looking flowers blossoming in the grass around her.

As was customary, I stopped before the live grass and held out the syringes to her. They were nitrates and various other substances, things that were designed to help Ivy in her current task. The Scarecrow had instructed her to create a network of tiny plants throughout the asylum, ones that could release the fear dust like spores into the air. One of the injections contained a weakened solution of the fear toxin, which appeared to have no effect on Poison Ivy's flawless immune system.

Ivy had already expressed her distaste for administering the chemicals into her body, but she reluctantly complied each day. She didn't like to talk to me, or even acknowledge my existence beyond taking the syringes, but that day something unusual happened.

After she had dosed herself up with the nitrates, she asked me to sit. In the grass. The thing that I had always got the impression was sacred to her in this little copse.

Tentatively, I crossed my legs and sat in the soft green stuff, wondering if some poison was secretly leeching into my skin.

"There's no need to look so frightened," said Poison Ivy with her disarming smile. "I only want to chat."

I guessed part of her was human after all.

"What about?" I asked.

"You," she said, green eyes appraising me. I knew I looked haggard and exhausted after my fear toxin therapy, but I had never noticed Ivy caring before. "How does a girl like you know a man like the Scarecrow?"

I felt a smile creep onto my face, and I stared down at the grass. I had the urge to start plucking it, like a schoolgirl on a field, but decided against it.

"He attacked the suburb where I lived," I explained, as though this type of meeting was completely commonplace. "I was the only one who wasn't frightened enough to testify against him afterwards."

I suddenly became very aware that if I continued with my current tone, I could do well to destroy the Scarecrow's reputation.

"How come you're here with him now?" asked Ivy.

Staring very hard at the daisy in front of me, I felt my lips twist uncomfortably, preparing to be judged for my answer. I realized, then, that I didn't have to tell her anything. I could get up and just walk away. The idea of actually having someone I _could_ talk to was an opportunity too valuable to pass up, however, so I found myself talking all the same.

"At first it was the fear toxin," I admitted. "The therapy's harsh, as scary as hell, but it's so worth it."

Poison Ivy made a disgusted noise.

"Don't go down that road, Nightmare," she said. "You can't let a man treat you like a plaything."

"It's not like that," I argued.

"Are you sure?"

"He's trying to help me."

"It sounds like the madman's experimenting on you."

I felt heat rise to my face in anger and indignation. That wasn't the way of it. I refused to believe her.

"You don't even know him. How can you judge?" I said defensively.

"Some men are just monsters, and I'm well acquainted with those types," stated Ivy coolly. "I am the way I am now because of a man-"

"Well, maybe that was you, but this is me. Don't presume to know the situation." In an act of sudden vengeance, I plucked the daisy in front of me, smirking a little when Poison Ivy hissed in pain.

"I'm trying to_ help _you here," she bit out, eyes glowering in unconcealed anger.

"So is the Scarecrow," I whispered, standing up and taking the metal tray that held Ivy's empty syringes.

Maybe if I hadn't been so in denial, I would've heard Ivy's words of warning. As it was, I headed back to the research building where the Scarecrow worked. He stood, working on the strain of fear toxin that he used in an attempt to create shared hallucinations. It was more amber than actual green.

When I pushed through the door, he looked up straight away, blue eyes fixing me with that intense stare of his.

"Are we ready to try again?" he asked.

"Hell yes," I grinned.

* * *

**A/N: So yeah, about the fake Batman. He was buying sandwiches. I stalked him to his Batmobile (a Fiat 500, but hey, it was black), and there was a Robin in the passenger seat. True story. Although perhaps 'stalked' wasn't the best term to use... :L  
Thank you for reading! Do drop a review, I love to hear everyone's opinions! :D**


	9. Breaking Point

**Disclaimer: ****Batman doesn't belong to me. I haven't seen any lookalikes recently either. **

* * *

The hallucinations got more powerful, the emotions overwhelming. The Scarecrow and I didn't always fall into the same one, but that only meant he had to tweak his new toxin before the next round of treatment.

I had to say, whilst having the toxin in my system, just the memory of feeling my previous symptoms seemed like a dream. As soon as I stopped, because the Scarecrow would only administer treatment every other day, they would return to me with renewed ferocity. Each morning I woke to nausea, and I only ate enough to stop myself fainting.

Somehow, I still thought I was getting better.

The Scarecrow, funnily enough, never mentioned my recovery or when I would finish my supposed treatment. Stupidly, pathetically, I still followed his guidance blindly. I found myself _trusting _him.

"You're becoming...exceptional at this," commented the Scarecrow thoughtfully, drawing out another two doses of toxin.

"Exceptional? At what?" I blinked in surprise.

"Manipulating hallucinations," he said.

"I don't...I can't change them consciously, can I?" I asked.

"You may not notice it, but you can. I note how your mind has been the dominant one in these shared dreams...or nightmares," his brief smile lit his face. It was a smile I liked to see. It meant he was in a good mood. "Despite my changing the strain of toxin, sometimes you can choose to share the hallucination, whether it be a conscious decision or not. The vision also reacts to your emotions."

"I thought that was all just part of it," I said, suddenly self-conscious about there being something _different_ about me.

"It's something new to me, actually, and really quite intriguing," the Scarecrow mused.

I offered the crook of my arm to his outstretched hand, watching as the needle disappeared into my dull, grey skin.

Sometimes I would be chased or haunted, ghosts from my past stalking me through the dark forest of my mind. Other times I returned to the playground, to find the gravestones of the schoolchildren who had bullied me. Even this didn't stop the horrible, taunting whispers. I tried to shut them out, but their intensity built up in my ears, until suddenly, a hand made from rotting flesh burst out of the tarmac.

Several others did the same, and all these arms pulled bodies from the ground, their awful, decaying mouths shaping the words I feared the most.

I started screaming, backing away, praying that someone would come and help me. A strong, wiry grip caught hold of my shoulder. I thought one had me.

I thrashed and screamed some more, trying to pull away. It was no use.

"Take this," said the Scarecrow, offering me his scythe. I took it, realising for the first time that in my hallucinations I held no cane.

The blade was lighter than I would have imagined it, its edge sharp, gleaming and wicked.

"What can I do with this?" I asked, panicking more as the undead schoolchildren staggered towards me. My imagination was so clear I could even smell them. My stomach turned over.

"Destroy them," whispered the Scarecrow in my ear, tempting, enticing.

This was just a hallucination, I said to myself, and even so, the bullies were already dead anyway. There was no harm done if I raised the scythe and let it fall. It was the only way to stop them. Their goading would be ceaseless if I didn't stand and strike back.

As the awful, clumsy bullies dragged their corpses towards me, fear coiled inside me like a snake hiding in its pit. My heart beat so hard I thought it stuttered slightly. My chest felt worn through, blood and adrenaline searing in my veins.

It was time the bullies paid, no, _suffered_, for what they had done.

Somehow, my hands understood what I was doing, for I wielded the weapon with a skill I could only dream of in real life. I didn't stop slashing until the last jibe had died. Putrid, black blood soaked my skin and seeped in between the cracks in the playground floor.

My feet moved forward, scythe still in hand, until I saw myself tripping and tumbling into one of the recently abandoned graves. Its dark depths yawned wide open, swallowing me whole and surrounding me with an impenetrable web of fear. I tried to slash at it with the scythe, but my gaze was fixed on the dwindling spec of light above me. The surface.

A familiar face was watching me fall. The gap between us widened, and I reached out a desperate hand as though he could catch me. I wanted to stop falling and start flying.

The same three words repeated themselves in my head until I couldn't suppress them. Fear drove me to the edge. Those words fell from my lips as I begged the figure above me. He didn't react. The breath was stolen from my lungs, the words forming silently in my mouth but never leaving.

Flashes of pure emotion violated my mind and left my body exhausted.

The darkness never stopped. Not until I opened my eyes, finding myself shaking and numb, lying on the cold floor. There was a face opposite me, reflecting my expression, feeling everything I felt in that moment. He knew what I was afraid of. Now I did to. I was scared of being alone. My eyes drifted close, the darkness behind them frightening me like no other.

"Don't leave me," I whispered into the dark.

There was a pause, a pause in which I thought I was falling again. A pair of strong arms lifted me, pulling me into an embrace which I clung on to. This close to the Scarecrow, I could tell how thin he really was. As I slid my arms around him, I felt every rib through his skin, and the rapidly beating heart that mirrored my own. Looking up at his face, I saw that his cheekbones were so sharp I might cut myself on them.

I held him tighter, head resting on his chest.

"I won't," he said breathlessly, his arms slackening.

I tried to open my mouth and say a word of thanks, but the phrase got stuck. Inexplicably, I wrenched away from the Scarecrow and tried to be sick. Breathing became difficult, painful even, and my head was dizzy, my vision fizzing.

All the while, there was an odd, hollow feeling where my heart should have been.

Then I passed out.

When awareness returned to me once more, there was this terrible, excruciating cramp in my chest. My eyes were still haunted by darkness, but I could hear the anguished scream that tore from my raw throat.

"Do you hear that?" hissed a female voice. It was Poison Ivy's. "That's _your _fault!" There was the sound of someone being slapped.

I didn't know if there was a reply or not, because then my world disappeared for a second time.

Warmth. That was the next thing I felt. After that, I became aware that I was trapped.

My eyes flew open, my body starting to struggle. I managed to focus my sight on what was around me. Vines.

"Calm down, honey," Poison Ivy smiled calmingly. "I'm doing you a favour."

"Where's the Scarecrow?" I gasped.

Ivy's smile dropped.

"I don't know what you'd want _him_ for. He's the reason you're in this mess," she curled her lip vehemently, green irises blazing.

"He's curing me," I told her.

"Curing you?" Poison Ivy seemed astounded by this concept. "He's keeping you addicted to his toxin."

"No," I said, breathless, shaking my head. "No, that's not true."

Even as I said it, I realized it was. Denial lifted like a curtain to a stage, only the play it unveiled was a horror.

"I'm sorry, honey," the words were spoken so softly.

"It's not your fault, Ivy," I found myself saying. "It's mine." Hot tears filled my eyes within seconds. I couldn't believe I had let this happen to me.

"Call me Red," said Ivy. "All my...acquaintances do."

Red sat beside me. I realized I was outside and it was night time, but the plants that cocooned me kept me warm. According to Red, they were healing my body, repairing it and replenishing it. I could see the process was extreme effort on her part.

She told me that the strain on my heart had caused me to have a heart attack. The thought shocked me like no other. Me? A heart attack?

"You need to start eating again," she told me. "I've replaced the nutrients in your system for now, and alleviated the stress on your heart, but you're still just skin and bones, honey."

"Thanks," I said. "I guess I owe you."

"There'll be time for that later," Red waved it off.

She asked me why I walked with a cane, and I briefly told her about my scoliosis as a child. I had had an operation a few years ago, but that hadn't solved the problem completely. Red offered to heal it for me. The decision wasn't as easy as I thought it would be.

"What am I, Red?" I asked, searching for a specific answer.

"What do you mean?" She raised an eyebrow.

"What do you call someone who's disabled? An insult. Call me an insult," I prompted.

"You're an insult," she said.

I laughed. It felt refreshing.

"No, I being serious here, Red. Call me something nasty," I told her.

"You're...a cripple," she said.

The word didn't bother me anymore. For some reason, I hadn't thought it would. Maybe it was a result of my most recent nightmare, but it felt as though the insults would never bother me again, not after what I had done to the undead schoolchildren. I had finally conquered my fear, not just suppressed it or understood it like I had on the train.

So if I didn't fear people's judgements on my appearance, should I really let Red heal my scoliosis? I'd admit that it was part of who I was.

No, I thought to myself, remembering being trapped at the Penguin's manor. I hated being reliant on a cane to walk. It stopped me, trapped me, prevented me from doing so many things when I really needed to do them. How many people, if given the opportunity before me, would actually turn it _down_?

"Do it," I said to Ivy, before adding. "Please."

I felt the vines shift around me, the tip of one touching the small of my back.

"Now this will-"

"What's happening?"

Red had started talking, but the Scarecrow appeared suddenly, stepping into the clearing and walking freely across the grass towards me. The notion of him crushing the soft, green blades without permission irritated me.

"Stay away," I glared at him.

Seeing his remorseless face aroused a deep anger inside me. I may have been a fool to trust his word, but he had still lied to me, keeping me on his drug just for the sake of research. It was the only thing that he cared about.

"What have you said to her?" the Scarecrow snapped, focussing on Red.

"The truth," Ivy bit back. "She knows what you did to her. Nightmare has every right to tell you to go to hell."

"Becky," I said. "It's Becky, not Nightmare."

The Scarecrow ignored my first words to him and crouched beside me, blue eyes even more intense this close. Beneath them, I felt my resolve flounder. No. I had to stand up for myself.

"You chose to be Nightmare, that's what you came here for," he spoke softly.

"No," I told him. I hated what I was about to do next, but how could I let myself feel bad for hurting him, after everything he had done to me? Likelihood was, he wouldn't even care what I had to say. "I came here because I was addicted to your fear toxin."

The Scarecrow stood abruptly.

"Don't worry, Becky," said Red sympathetically. "I've done my best to reduce your dependency on it."

"I thought...never mind," the Scarecrow muttered to himself, shaking his head. His mouth was drawn, his eyes sad. _Sad_.

"You can't play the victim here!" I yelled at him, voice tearing. "I nearly died because of your bloody experiments!" Tears arrived once more, but my vision wasn't so blurred as to miss the shock on the Scarecrow's unmasked face.

I didn't know if it was feigned or not. I couldn't trust it.

"What are you doing to her now?" the Scarecrow asked Ivy, voice hollow. "She seems recovered to me."

"Becky has asked me to heal the remnants of her scoliosis, and after everything she's been through, I'm willing to oblige," said Red.

"I thought you had conquered the fear of your disability." I was being spoken to again. Ivy adjusted her vines so I was sitting up. Smothered in green tendrils, it was only slightly more dignified.

"I have. That doesn't mean I have to walk with a wretched cane for the rest of my life," I said venomously.

"It's part of who you are," he argued. "It gives you character." I didn't know what to make of that part.

"So without my cane I'm just...nothing? I have nothing to define me?" I sniffed. Well, I was going to prove him wrong. "Red, I want you to heal me. Now. Please."

Ivy responded, fixing the vines to do as I had asked. One touched the small of my back, like it had before the Scarecrow had interrupted. I felt a warm bud swell underneath my skin, at first pleasant but then it burned. Something in my back realigned. I let out a cry as the sharp pain shot up my spine. This was taken away instantly, and I saw Ivy flinch in pain of her own.

I noted the Scarecrow's disappointed expression and I grinned wickedly. He turned away, turned back, and then walked off into the darkness between the trees. It felt good to see the back of him.

"What are you going to do now?" asked Red as she unravelled the vines from around me. I realized I was naked, and freezing. Ivy turned away as I found my clothes in the long grass and dressed. I prayed that she had been the one to take them off me.

"Will you leave?" Red asked again.

"And go where?" I wondered aloud, lacing up my boots. "Did you see his face earlier? He doesn't even care about what happened." I had to bite back new tears as the words cracked. Why did that bother me? "I'm not leaving here until he regrets what he's done to me."

Even as I said it, I knew it was false blame. Perhaps I could pin my heart attack and near death on the Scarecrow, but the real addiction had been my fault.

"You remind me of a friend of mine," sighed Poison Ivy. "I just hope he doesn't unravel your mind like hers. I'm surprised you still have any sanity left, after all the hallucinations you've been through."

"I'm definitely less sane now than I was when I arrived," I gave a small smirk.

"You don't seem crazy to me, Nightmare," Ivy said. "I just wish it stays that way for you."

I stood up and looked around at the blossoming clearing. It was so unnatural at this time of year, and luminescent plants set the place aglow. Lying next to a patch of daisies was my cane. Not the original one, but the one the Scarecrow had given to me. I stared at it for a long while.

I picked it up.

"Thank you, Red," I smiled at Ivy, who took up her usual meditative stance. She smiled back, her lovely, heart-melting smile, and closed her eyes.

"I won't do that for you again," she said.

I knew what she meant. I couldn't let myself fall into the same situation, it would be selfish of me to expect her to do so much all over again. Bearing this in mind, I started walking with my cane through the dead copse and back towards the research facility. It was a different sort of walk, however, because I wasn't dependent on the stick. After all, the Riddler had a staff, the Penguin had an umbrella, why couldn't I have a cane? I would never have admitted it to the Scarecrow in that moment, but he was right about something. The cane did give me character.

I found the Scarecrow in his typical research lab, writing. He always did things by hand. I wondered where he kept all the papers, and if there was a match nearby.

No, I said to myself, that work was his life. I still felt bad for thinking about destroying it, even after everything.

"Writing up how to kill your patients?" I asked caustically. His pen froze.

"I see you're still choosing to walk with a cane," he replied, tone dangerous. Good.

"Why did you experiment on me?" I cut straight to it.

"I was addicted once," he admitted, not really answering my question. "There is no other sensation, is there? Nothing can rival it. But it comes with a price."

"What?"

"I lost all fear, Becky, I stopped feeling it, almost. There is only one thing I am afraid of now."

"What is it?"

"Batman."

I thought about losing fear for good. It seemed so impossible, but clearly this wasn't the case. I had seen his hallucinations. They all included the Batman.

"That still doesn't explain why you claimed to be curing me, even though you were keeping me an addict." I found myself tearing again on the inside. "Did it not register, for one miniscule second in your head, that I nearly _died _because of you?"

"Yes it bloody well does!" the Scarecrow snapped suddenly, eyes turning into violent whirlpools. He stood up so sharply as he said it, the chair he was sitting on fell back.

I don't know why I cared so much about him caring. I should've known better than to trust him in the first place. He was a twisted, sadistic, overwhelming and completely fascinating lunatic, who I...who I had only wanted fear toxin from.

No, that wasn't true.

Maybe I cared so much because, for once in my life, I had actually thought I had meant something to someone. He had saved me from my kidnapping, he had repeatedly offered me a place at his side. Me. No one else. But then all the time I had just been another victim to him, another experiment.

As my thoughts reeled, the Scarecrow faced me, shaking hands clenching and unclenching into fists.

"You were out of it for days, Becky. Each night I came to see you, looking as though you may be dead already. Poison Ivy's healing process took forever to bring you conscious again. I thought you never would be. Those days felt like years-"

"Just stop!" I hissed. "You're a real piece of work, you are. Do you expect me to believe that? After everything you've done to me? After keeping me in a lie for so long?" I had advanced towards him as I spoke, hands gesturing, infuriated. I couldn't let him get through to me.

"Don't you dare call me a liar!" yelled the Scarecrow. "You only came here for the toxin. When you arrived on this island, you were already addicted. You had no interest in being Nightmare, but still accepted because otherwise, you wouldn't have had access to the serum! Who's the liar _now_?"

Every word was the truth.

"I hate you," I managed to choke out. I closed the distance between us and slapped him around the face. From his expression, I could tell it was the second time a woman had done that to him recently.

The anger must've welled up inside of the Scarecrow, because he grabbed hold of me and slammed me violently into the opposite counter.

I cried out, the force so great that I thought he may have realigned my spine once again. The grip on my hips tightened.

"Really?" said the Scarecrow, voice lower and deadlier than ever. "So why are you still wearing that costume, Becky? Why are you still _here_?"

"Please," I whispered desperately, though I didn't know what I was asking for. "Don't do this to me."

Before the tears had a chance to arrive, the Scarecrow kissed me.

I felt his lips part my own, tasted the whisky on his breath. I told myself I hated him, but the rest of me said I wanted him. This close together, I just wanted to let everything go, to forget the lies, the fear toxin, the anger. I just wanted to kiss him. And more.

With each moment that passed, more of my insides started to thaw, melting until I thought the two of us had merged into one. His fingers wandered over what little curves I had, pulling me closer to him, something I hadn't thought was possible. I felt every wounded emotion running between us, with each touch and each kiss.

My cane fell from my fingers as I held him tighter.

It lay on the tiles, forgotten.

His lips trailed down my neck, and I heard my name fall into the night. It was answered with two more words.

"Don't stop."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading! All support is very much appreciated! Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think. Now, I have to go pack my bag for a two-day backpacking/camping trip...wish me luck. XD **


	10. Bitter Reminiscing

**Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, but I do wish he had come and saved me from my hiking trip. **

* * *

I curled a lock of his hair around my finger. The faint yellow light from the lab below brought out the autumnal highlights in the dark strands. We lay in the office above the lab, the room that the Scarecrow had converted into his own. Blankets were twisted around us. There was no heating in this place, but I wasn't cold, not whilst curled up beside him.

"Becky," he muttered with his eyes closed. "Stop playing with my hair."

"Sorry." I traced my finger over his hollow cheek, before snatching my hand away and just watching his attempt to sleep. His arm was crooked underneath his head and his hair cast long shadows under his eyes.

His hand stretched out and pulled me towards him, lining the curves of our bodies together. As his touch ran over my thigh, I felt the faintest twinge of regret.

"We shouldn't have done that," I muttered.

"You're hurting my feelings," said the Scarecrow, eyes remaining closed.

"You don't have feelings," I reminded him.

"Too true," he admitted.

I lay awake for a long while, wondering if the Scarecrow was sleeping, or whether his eyes were just closed. Eventually mine drifted shut too, but opened when it was still mostly dark. Time had past, however, because I could feel the stiffness in my joints.

It felt odd not to wake up with a faint, uncomfortable sensation in the small of my back. I still owed Ivy something for that, but in that moment I had nothing to give her. Another thing I then realized – no nightmares. Not even a dream. There had just been peaceful darkness, and nothing ever felt more refreshing.

Unable to go back to sleep, I crawled out from under the blankets and into my clothes. The Scarecrow still appeared to be sleeping, something I had never seen him do before. It was unnatural to see him so still, but his face wasn't peaceful or calm, not like how some would describe a restful person. Whatever dream was playing out on the back of his eyelids caused his mouth to become a hard line, his eyebrows to come together slightly. I wanted to wake him up and kiss him and take away the dream.

No.

He had lied to me. But I had lied to him.

He had nearly killed me. Because of my addiction, which was my fault.

As I stood there in the shadows, I could see how this relationship had begun to a healthy start. If it was going to be a relationship, that is. Despite everything, I still hoped it would be, more fiercely than I would ever have anticipated.

Strolling out of the building, cane in hand, I made my way through the copse. It rose steeply into a peak which, if I turned to the east, silhouetted the asylum complex against the dirty pink stain of the sunrise. On my way, I unintentionally crossed Ivy, who was coaxing a sapling from the ground even in the late fall.

"Hey there, Red," I smiled at her.

"Did you make him regret what he did to you?" she asked, glancing up as the sapling sprouted leaves.

At first the grin slipped a little and I bit my lip anxiously, but I couldn't fight the corner of my mouth as it slid upwards. Not smiling was like trying to stop the sun from rising.

"Not exactly," I said eventually. "I didn't need to."

Things were far from settled in my head, but I knew that somewhere between the first kiss and the last, I had forgiven the Scarecrow for whatever he may have done.

"You two spent the night together, didn't you?" Ivy saw right through me.

"I don't really see how that's any of your business," I told her, flushing bright pink.

She threw her head back and laughed out loud. It was such a sinisterly beautiful sound, and the sapling blossomed into a miniature apple tree as she did so.

"I suppose it isn't, but please excuse me for looking out for your welfare," she said tartly.

I ran my tongue over my teeth in irritation. It wasn't like me to appear ungrateful, but there were questions that needed asking.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me," I said. "Really, I owe you my life, but I have to ask…why? Why bother with me?"

"Because at first, you reminded me of, well, me…back in those wretched years when I was a human, that is. I thought you were naïve and vulnerable and impressionable, and that the Scarecrow was only taking advantage of this. Now, though, I see that I was completely wrong," Ivy shook her head. "You have more backbone than I ever did. Somehow, even after everything you've been put through in life, you're still wholly _you_, and I don't want to see another innocent girl in Gotham fall prey to a madman. If there's anything I can do to help you, I'll do it. I've been called deranged and evil in the past, Becky, but I'm not completely heartless."

I knew sometime in the future, the price of Ivy's kindness would come back to me like a letter from a bailiff. I had heard of her ruthless nature, and her cold despise for humanity in general, but perhaps for once looking frail and weak and slightly vulnerable had gained me an almost-friendship with her.

"I wish there was something I could give back to you," I said.

"I'm sure there will be something," said Ivy pleasantly. "I assume you're going to be staying with the Scarecrow then?"

"I am."

As I spoke, I understood the truth of why I was going to stay, even though my addiction appeared cured. I looked down at the costume I had taken to wearing. It didn't mean that much to me, but I knew it meant something to the Scarecrow. I thought about everything I had seen in our shared hallucinations, and about how he lived and worked. He needed a woman in his life, I realized. I wondered how long it had been since one _was._

Poison Ivy said that she was a week away from finishing her task of networking the plants around Arkham. After seeing her revenge through, she would depart.

I found myself on the peak of the little hill, where I had originally intended to be. Arkham Asylum was sprawled beneath the polluted dawn sky, ugly, concrete walls protruding from the ground like a decaying skeleton. I could understand why Poison Ivy thought humanity was so hideous, if this was what she saw.

Standing there, in the morning sunshine, I began to feel my headache prodding around in my brain again. The ghost of nausea drifted through my stomach. I bit down and ignored them, pushing them to the side and focussing on something else.

All of a sudden, a familiar arm encircled my waist, and a figure stepped up beside me. I didn't even have to look round to know who it was.

"Good morning, Nightmare," said the Scarecrow, lips brushing my cheek. "You don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

Even without my permission, I felt that he would call me whatever he wanted, but that didn't bother me.

"Only if I can call you Jonathan," I said.

There was a silence.

"Fine."

Another silence.

"Red's done a good job, hasn't she?" I thought aloud.

If someone had been working at Arkham every day for the past week, they wouldn't have noticed the subtle changes, but I did. The overgrown wilderness that bordered the facility had crept nearer and I knew Ivy's thin vines had slithered inside the building, into every crack and tunnel.

"She has," admitted the Scarecrow, aware of my use of Poison Ivy's nickname. "You two seemed to have grown closer all of a sudden."

"You could say that," I replied flippantly.

A single gust of wind rolled over the crest of the hill, causing me to curl into the Scarecrow's embrace. My head rested on his shoulder, my hand on his chest. My fingertips wandered, remembering the feel of the skin underneath his clothes. It was something that would linger in my memory forever.

"One week," the Scarecrow muttered. "One week until Halloween."

"I hope you haven't forgotten what the Penguin's done to me," I said. "I expect my fair share of revenge once this is over."

"Anything for you, my dear."

I imagined the chaos erupting from the complex below us, green fear gas leaking from every door, window and crevice. Despite the fact that I wasn't addicted anymore, I still felt a strange allure to the idea of people screaming in fear. The ones that had caused the Scarecrow to suffer would suffer themselves. I only had an idea of the patients' treatment inside the facility, but I was a fool if I overlooked how horribly unpleasant and degrading it must be.

"If you don't mind," said the Scarecrow. "I would like to pay a specific visit to Dr. Kellerman, who should be working the nightshift nowadays. We have some unfinished business to conduct."

I wasn't clueless as to what the unfinished business would entail, but still I just shrugged and said I didn't mind.

"Why?" I then asked.

"When you meet him-"

"No, I meant, why do you do what you do?"

There was a pause. The sun inched a bit higher, the birdsong became a bit louder, and after a while I thought he wouldn't answer me.

"I suppose it started back at Ailith's house," he said eventually.

"Who's Ailith?" I wondered aloud.

"My biological grandmother," he explained. The next thing the Scarecrow told me, with a grin on his face, was that he had killed her as a teenager and got away with it. Swallowing down any judgement, I asked what she had been like.

"She was perhaps the cruellest woman I've ever known. I would often think that she was the devil incarnate, which was hilarious seeing as she was such a heavily devoted Christian. She wasn't reserved about her religion, either." The last part was spoken with a new bitterness.

"What did Ailith do?" I prompted, knowing the Scarecrow wouldn't go on unless I kept asking questions. I was surprised that he answered them at all.

"I have no idea why, perhaps she just got sick of having me in her house, but every week she would make me feed the birds. They were crows, mostly, a few gulls, the occasional raven. But these weren't the sort you may find hovering around the city. Because we lived on a rural estate in the suburbs, they were bigger, and ten times more ferocious. If you threw them a scrap of bread, they'd attack you. God knows why," he muttered.

"Why did you do it, then?"

"Because I bloody well had to!" snapped the Scarecrow, retrieving his arm from around my waist. My insides squirmed at the thought of making him angry with me. "Whatever the birds did, it wasn't as bad as what Ailith would do if she saw me coming back inside with even a crumb of bread left. I tried eating it once, but it was so stale I couldn't swallow it."

"How bad were the birds?" I still had my arm around him, not letting go even if he wasn't holding me any longer.

"You've seen the scars," he said quietly.

I gasped, remembering the white lines that marred his arms, shoulders, even the back of his neck. I pressed my lips against where one of his larger ones was, on his collarbone. Originally, I had believed that they had come from him many encounters with Batman, or perhaps another rival, but never had I thought that a member of his own family had inflicted them.

"One day I got sick of it," the Scarecrow continued. I could feel the smouldering anger inside of him. His pulse was racing faster. "I took a pitchfork out with me one time, so when I threw them the bread, and a crow came in too close, I killed it. Easily. I had to do this a few times, but then the flock seemed to become wary of me. That was when I realized the importance of fear."

"How did your…how did Ailith die?" I asked.

"When I was about eighteen, after the incidents with the birds, I went up into the loft and found several bats hanging from the rafters. I had a phobia of bats, even back then. I had a lighter with me, and I'll admit I was so petrified that the only logical thing to do was to set fire to the place. After the house had burned down, the police claimed that it was caused by the fact Ailith had left the gas stove on, and that it was an accident. She herself had been locked in the bathroom at the time."

"Was that the first time you...?" the question emerged tentatively, unfinished.

A smirk crossed the Scarecrow's face.

"Killed someone? No," he said. "I like to think that happened at prom, earlier in the year. It was the first time I wore a mask, and a costume. There was this blonde cheerleader that I finally…managed to ask to the dance."

"What happened?"

"Well, she rejected me in front of what felt like the entire school. She chose the most degrading way to do it, too. I later found out that she had then accepted the request of the boy who had bullied me for the past few years. I figured he had planned something like this, so I decided to get my own back. It was amazing to see so many people shrieking and panicking, just from seeing someone costumed and waving a gun. Well, I wanted to see what happened if it was actually _used_," a slow grin split the Scarecrow's face. "So I shot the boy who had tormented me endlessly for the entirety of my school career. I disappeared shortly afterward, but I heard that his prom date tried to drive him to the hospital and was involved in a car accident. He died. She was paralyzed from the waist down."

I watched the shine in the Scarecrow's blue eyes as he reminisced his past. I had to say I felt sorry for the girl who was paralyzed, because I knew a little of what it was like to be physically inept. As for his grandmother, she sounded like a horrid, evil woman who was at the end of her life, and the bully might've survived if it wasn't for the unpredictable car crash.

I leaned up and kissed the Scarecrow on the cheek, the kisses trailing down to his mouth. When his lips touched my own, I still felt the same thrill as I had before. It was like the blood in my veins had turned to electricity.

Whatever his past, I wanted to be in his future.

"And if you ever speak a word of what I've just said," breathed the Scarecrow angrily, "_especially _to a psychiatrist, I will dose you up on so much toxin, not even Poison Ivy will be able to help you recover."

* * *

**A/N: THANK YOU for your continued support on this story! Do tell me how you felt about the penultimate chapter! :D Yes, you read that right. It just feels like a good idea to tie up this current plot, but allow these characters to have a future. They do in my head, anyway.  
****I'm aware that I altered some points in the Scarecrow's backstory, so sorry if that irritates anyone, but I just thought that there are a lot of fics around that have given some original rundowns of the tale, and this one works for this story, I think. :)  
****As for the backpacking... Oh. My. God. I have a new appreciation for snails, who carry their homes on their backs ALL the time. No wonder they go so slowly. I can no longer walk properly, I more or less have to waddle. XD But that's OK, because you don't need hips for writing. Roasting marshmallows and recounting horror films was quite fun, however. **


	11. Intimidation and Fear

**Disclaimer: Batman doesn't belong to me. /\../\  
That was supposed to be a bat...oh well, I tried. :D **

* * *

Screams. Glorious, wonderful screams. Pleas for help and cries for mercy erupted all around me, with every step I took. All I had to do was look at a flailing doctor and they collapsed in a fit of terror. A laugh escaped from the stitches in the mouth of my mask. It was so twisted and warped, I knew it couldn't possibly be my own. But it was.

"Sounds like you've been practicing," commented the Scarecrow as we strolled through the gas-filled corridors of Arkham Asylum.

"There's no need to," I told him, staring at each terrified individual that we passed. Occasionally, the Scarecrow would pretend to raise his scythe and strike at a nurse or a security guard, then laugh as they cowered and begged for God to help them.

"He won't save you now," he would snarl.

My cane tapped against the dirty linoleum underfoot, and I wondered if it sounded like the beat of a war drum to the gassed people, or perhaps the grating of nails on a chalkboard. Anything that put them on edge.

The cloud of sparkling green fear gas nearly blinded me, but the lights were still bright inside the complex, causing the curtain to become translucent. The whole facility was flooded with the stuff, and even the inmates were crying for their mothers to come and save them. As I walked beside the Scarecrow, I felt the sweat bead on my upper lip. My throat was growing dry, and it was becoming ever so tempting to remove my hessian mask and breathe it in. Just one breath.

Distracting me from my thoughts, a blonde nurse ran at me, fingers like talons as she tried to attack. I felt the Scarecrow move beside me, ready to defend, but my cane had already struck out, offsetting her balance and sending her into a nearby trolley laden with supplies.

The Scarecrow and I were making our way towards the doctors' offices, in the hopes of encountering the psychiatrist who had treated him whilst at the asylum.

Poison Ivy was also strolling around this facility somewhere, with the intention of releasing Harley Quinn and 'dropping in' on the her nightshift guards, or so she put it.

The chorus of screams followed us wherever we went in the facility, so much so that it soon drifted from my hearing like background noise. We crossed through the records room, and to one side of this, we found a door with the name we were looking for embossed on its sign. Kicking open the entrance, more green gas tumbled out to meet the cloud already outside.

"Do you get used to seeing through this stuff?" I asked, at what was probably a very inconvenient time.

"You do," the Scarecrow assured me, before storming into the office.

He dragged what I assumed was Dr. Kellerman out from underneath his desk and held the psychiatrist up by his collar. Tilting his head, he made the stitches on his mask stretch into that strange leer. I knew he was grinning for real underneath. I didn't need to be close to know the way his eyes were shining in glee. Nothing made him happier than seeing his tormentors cower before him, and nothing made me happier than to see him so ecstatic.

"Hello, Steven," said the Scarecrow, laughing snidely. "Are we well this evening? Ready for our next _session_?" With this final word, he threw the shrink across his own desk, scattering papers and smashing a glass paperweight. Kellerman whimpered and tried to get up, to flee, but I kicked him down with my boot.

Stepping onto the desk, the Scarecrow crossed it in two strides and crouched above where the shrink was sprawled on the floor. His scythe was in his hand.

"Tell me, Steven, what do you _see_?" his voice came out with its usual rasp, a rasp I now knew came from smoking a cigarette beforehand.

"Stay away from me!" Kellerman shrieked, clawing at something that wasn't there.

"Oh? But you used to love our little chats!" the Scarecrow cackled, and I couldn't help but chuckle myself as he raised the scythe and swung the blade so close to the shrink's face, it actually nicked skin and drew blood. "Laugh away, my dear," he then said to me. "This is a pathetic excuse of a man we have before us."

This appeared to be the breaking point for Kellerman, as he launched himself up and attempted to harm the Scarecrow. I noticed how the latter stood and leaned back so far I thought the shrink may have actually forced him over backwards, but then he swung an arm around and caught Kellerman in the gut, sending him flying into a wall. Several papers that were tacked up fluttered down. I saw they were news articles and suchlike, all on Poison Ivy.

"My my, got a little crush have we?" I taunted him, waving a crumpled clipping before his petrified eyes. Sweat ran in fine rivulets from his forehead. "Well, Red's running around this place if you want a call from her."

"No, please no!" begged the shrink. I kicked him over and struck him with my cane.

"What's wrong? Is she too intimidating for you? She's definitely out of your league…" I leaned in close to him, twisting my head the way I had seen the Scarecrow do it.

"Don't! Don't bring her here!" sobbed Kellerman.

"I bet you weren't very nice to her. I bet you thought you could control her, behind your little glass cells and under your little red lights. Well, if she came down here for a visit, I think you'd get everything you _deserved_," I sneered. The shrink shook visibly under my gaze. "Does the thought of her revenge scare you, doctor?"

The Scarecrow continued to torture him, right up until the moment he passed out. By that time, my insides hurt from laughing. Kellerman had got everything he deserved, I was sure. As I turned my head to look out of the window, I noticed a familiar symbol scouring the murky, night time clouds.

"Jonathan," I said to get his attention. If we hadn't been alone, I might not have addressed him as such, but as it was, he came over to the window and looked up into the night sky.

"Excellent," I heard him breathe. "It's time to head onto the roof."

"Conquering your fears?" I asked as we left the office.

"Hell no," the Scarecrow chuckled. "I just want to _experience_ them."

After frightening a maintenance worker in blue overalls, we made our way up a set of twisting stairwells, until we reached the fire escape on the roof. Its flat surface was rimmed with a concrete wall half a metre high, and was dotted with large fans and skylights. It was nice to be up in the cold night, as opposed to surrounded by noxious green fog. Briefly, I took off my mask and let the air cool my face. The Scarecrow removed his mask too.

"Want some?" he offered me a hipflask, no doubt full of whiskey. I stared at it for a moment.

"No thanks," I said, retying my mask.

He took a mouthful. He always drank when some part of his work was complete. Fingers twitching on the scythe's long handle, the Scarecrow continued to stare up into the sky, his face now covered once again.

The Batsignal carried on roaming across the clouds.

I strolled up to the edge of the roof, peering down into the courtyard below. Red was down there, surrounded by a group of five squealing guards and making the most of it. Strange, flesh-eating plants erupted from the soil, as well as vines to hold down her attackers. I wondered how long she could manage this, before she wore herself out.

"If things should get out of hand," said the Scarecrow, as I returned to his side. "Just leave. I'm staying until I get what I came for."

"I won't be going anywhere," I told him.

"You can't risk your identity being discovered, Nightmare," I heard the steely edge to his voice. Shivers ran up my spine. It would be a mistake to argue with him. "If I say go, you go."

I didn't reply at first, but then he said my name with such a loaded warning, I had to comply.

"Fine," I bit out.

"Good."

I wasn't sure if the good was because of me, or because of the two dark shapes that now flitted towards us in the night. Capes outstretched, one looked like an enormous bat, the other an agile and nimble bird. The two of them dived low, and then with the whirr of an automated grapple, soared up onto the rooftop.

It wasn't my first encounter with the Batman, not by a long shot, but now that I was facing him he seemed twice as foreboding. I felt a grin slice my lips in two. Did he recognize me at all? I'm not even sure I would, but he was smart. I wouldn't assume anything.

"Trick or treat, Batman?" asked the Scarecrow.

"Trick," he growled, before sending a batarang sailing through the air. It skimmed past the Scarecrow's shoulder.

"As you wish," the masked man then snarled, drawing a straw from his boot. He snapped it and threw the remains at the Batman as the Dark Knight launched himself at his adversary. His cape rippled in the air.

Whilst this was happening in the corner of my eye, the Batman's sidekick had begun circling me, sizing me up. I turned to face him the whole time, fingers drumming on my cane. I too had some straws of fear gas tucked in my boot, but I doubted an attack with them would be a surprise now.

Robin came at me, a blur of garish yellows and reds and greens. I ducked his first strike, jamming my cane between his legs and sending him sprawling to the ground. After that, I wasn't so lucky. I had no idea how to fight, or how to defend myself when he bounced right back up.

As it turned out, I needn't have been so worried.

A green tendril slapped Robin away from me, and I turned to see Red rising onto the roof, stepping daintily from the monstrous tentacle of the plant crawling up behind her.

"Looks like you could use a hand," said Red, a smirk curling her perfect, cupid lips.

"Thanks," I muttered, stepping back slightly as she moved forward. I peered over the lip of the roof, catching sight of the guards' bodies after the plants had withered and died around them. Ivy was focussing all of her energy on attacking Robin.

Moving back into the fight, I did little against the Batman's sidekick. Ivy was the one who stopped him from apprehending me. I was useless otherwise. As those two fought, my attention flickered briefly back to the Scarecrow and the Batman. I noticed the former's obscure way of fighting, only later learning that it was drunken boxing. Sometimes it looked as though he were about to fall, before finding a purchase from nowhere and striking back with quick viciousness. I was almost mesmerized by this, until someone's foot kicked me in the face.

I was sent sprawling, nearly to the other side of the roof. All the while, I kept the cane fiercely in my grip. It was my only weapon, as well as the only way of defending myself. As Robin flew through the air towards me, I rolled over and sprung up, ready to block his strikes. I only just managed, by trying to change my direction and stumbling backwards, nearer to Ivy. She appeared to be weakening, clutching her side, breathless. Behind her, the monstrous plant was turning brown and losing its limbs.

One tentacle still managed to dart out across the width of the roof, seizing Robin and drawing him back. He hung, struggling and flailing above a thirty foot drop.

"Oh, Batman, look what I have here?" taunted Ivy, grinning even though her face was glowing with fine perspiration.

A batarang was thrown in the direction of the tentacle, slicing through its green skin. The gash was deeper than I expected, and it didn't heal. Red must've really been at the end of her tether. After her weeks of meticulous preparation for this night, it was a surprise I expected anything different.

In a sudden rush, the Batman slammed the Scarecrow into the ground, before leaving him stunned and then approaching Ivy cautiously.

"Put him back on the roof, Poison Ivy," I heard him say in his gravelly voice. I darted over to where the Scarecrow lay, near the ladder that descended to the ground level. The Batman didn't pay much attention to me, and I didn't fool myself into thinking I was a threat.

Kneeling down beside the Scarecrow, I realized how laboured his breath had become, and how a stream of dark red blood trickled down onto his neck. I wanted nothing more than to take the mask off his face, but I restrained myself. He wouldn't have appreciated it.

In the distance, I could hear the shriek of sirens and the glimmer of red and blue lights flashing in the corner of my vision. With a slow, sinking feeling of dread, I realized this night had come to its end.

"It's time for you to go, my dear," the words I wanted to hear the least came from the shadows behind the Scarecrow's mask. I looked up to see a swarm of black-clad cops racing towards the building we stood on. We had mere minutes before they would be climbing the ladder. I could see my hands shaking.

"I'd rather be captured," I told him. It came out as a whisper.

"I'm not giving you a choice," he hissed, but then a bitter laugh escaped from between the stitches of his mask. "I already persuaded Ivy to help you get out of here."

"Then she can get you out as well," I said, glancing over to where the Batman was still trying to negotiate Robin's release. He was telling her to return to her cell. Like that would work. Maybe he was just stalling for time, until the cops hit the roof.

"She would never help me," said the Scarecrow. "Besides, I can't remember the last time I felt fear like this. When you lose something, Becky, you start to crave it."

In that moment, I realized I could never understand all the thoughts that went through the Scarecrow's mind. But then again, what two humans _could_ do that? He seemed adamant to stay, just to feel afraid of something. It occurred to me that this had been his intention all along, to be captured and thrown back into Arkham. Just for the sake of feeling fear.

"Do you remember when I told you I only had one fear?" he then asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Well, now I seem to have two," he told me. "The first is the Batman, the second…is losing you."

It was hard to describe the way my pulse raced when I heard those words, the way warmth spread from inside me. The sound of ringing metal invaded my ears, as boots started climbing the ladder to my left. The moment shattered around me.

"Ivy!" called the Scarecrow, summoning my only means of escape. I would never have asked her to pull me from the Scarecrow's side, but at the same time, I couldn't disobey him.

I looked up to see Robin being flung through the air, and the Batclaw being propelled after him, in an attempted to catch him before he fell uncontrollably. With the Batman temporarily distracted, Ivy came over and hauled me up. The first cop appeared over the side of the building, raising his firearm and clicking the safety. Ivy pulled me back over the adjacent edge of the roof.

Air rushed by my ears, and that awful weightless sensation tore my stomach to shreds. We had only been falling for a second, but then Red summoned a thick stalk from the courtyard below to catch us. The cry that escaped her lips told me that she was using the last of her power.

We rose once again, on the head of the developing stalk, so that now we could see the rooftop where the Batman stood with Robin. Batarangs and bullets were sprayed in our direction, but Ivy forced me flat. When I glanced up again, a bulb was growing around us. I recognized this plant from the time when I had broken her out. She was going to use it to take us into the soil, to take us away from Arkham.

Just before the bulb closed around us completely, the scene below etched itself into my memory forever. The dark figures of the cops pulled the Scarecrow upright, ripping the mask from his head and roughly cuffing his wrists behind his back. His blue eyes appeared radiant in the night. Déjà vu flashed before me, as I remembered the time when he had first been unmasked back in Greenvale. I didn't fear him, but what I felt wasn't sympathy either.

I think his blue eyes found mine, even over the distance that separated us, and my heart clenched because of something much, much deeper than just sympathy.

Then the bud closed around me, and all I had was the memory of his face.

* * *

**A/N: So this is it, the grand finale! Please review. :D An impossibly big THANK YOU to everyone who's read, followed, favourited and reviewed this fic. I've had more views and more support than I could ever have expected from my first story on here, so thank you so much! I hope this ending is satisfying for you all. Originally, this was written for Char, a good friend of mine, for her birthday, and so it's dedicated to her. But thank you all again! Until next time, maybe...  
P.S. I watched Batman Forever last night. The Riddler's fashion sense is dire in that film. (No offence to any fans...) **


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